No Need For Long Goodbyes
by Tamagoakura
Summary: The first time I left him, he begged me not to go. The second time I left him, I begged him to let me return. When he finally left me, there was no going back. AU, Incest, Angst. Long summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: AU. After the death of his mother, Alfred lives with his father and younger brother in a tiny town in upper Minnesota. Full of strife and conflicted emotions over the various forms of abuse he suffers from his father, he attempts to make it through life as best he can. No man is perfect, and through a series of poor choices, he drags the people around down with him until, for some, there is no coming back.

**CHAPTER ONE:**

I suppose some people might say that this is an endeavor at penance, some feeble attempt to make my conscience quiet down even after all of these years. If you asked me why I'm doing this, I could only answer truthfully with an "I'm not sure." I don't know why, after what feels like a lifetime, I decided to sit down in front of my computer and write this out. I doubt it will even leave the boundaries of my office. I'm sure this is nothing more than the morbid pass-time of a man who has found himself restless in his retirement and unwilling to accept the calm of his final years.

That may be true, but somehow I can't stop torturing myself over it, and I suppose I deserve all of the pain I've experienced over the years. This is a confession of sorts, a kind of purging of sin for a man who had lost his faith long ago, if he ever had it in the first place. This is the story of how I killed my brother.

Dedicated, in loving memory, to Matthew Williams Jones.

I grew up in a small town east of Grand Rapids, Minnesota, with my father and younger brother. Although I consider myself as American as possible, my father had come to this country from somewhere in the United Kingdom some six years before I was born. He had slummed around, I'm sure, spending days and nights traveling across the vast roadways of The States. He met my mother somewhere near the Canadian border, not long after she had completed her immigration into the country. I don't remember much about her, except that she had the longest blonde hair I had ever seen, and I used to play with it while she read me to sleep at night. We were a happy family, as far as I can recall. By the time I was four years old she was pregnant, and it was very hard on her. She was bedridden for weeks before she became so ill that my father felt it necessary for her to be admitted to a hospital.

She went into labor early, on July 1st, 1986, just three days before my fifth birthday. I can vaguely remember lying on the waiting room chairs, whining incessantly at Arthur, my father, about how bored I was. He would just tell me to be quiet and pace up and down the small room, sucking down one cigarette after another. I must have fallen asleep for some time, because the only thing I remember after that was Arthur's strained voice calling me, and opening my eyes to look at a pudgy little face that was lax with sleep.

"Alfred, say hello to Matthew." Arthur's voice was so choked, and his eyes were a puffy red. I was confused, they had been making such a fuss about the new baby, so why would my father be sad?

On the ride home the front passenger seat felt deserted. On my birthday we put a long box into the ground and when we got home Arthur took everything my mother owned and stowed it away in the basement. The day after that, I asked when she was coming home, and was slapped so hard the bruise stayed for almost a week. I never asked again, and she never came back.

As years passed, Arthur began to drink heavily and for longer and longer binges. He lost one job, and then another, and another, until we were scraping out a meager living in a tiny house off of highway 169. Most of our clothes were hand-me-down affairs from the Goodwill or Trendy Thrift down the street, and what few toys Matthew and I shared were almost entirely scavenged from McDonald's floors and play places. Arthur barely bought food, and we routinely lost electricity due to unpaid bills. Our game system was the first to see the open and hungry maw of the local Quickie Pawn, and was followed shortly by most everything that would sell and wasn't necessary for life. I went with him one day, I was something like six years old, when he showed off a beautiful string of rubies. While the shop-keep looked over the expensive jewels, I had wandered around to look at the toys. There were Slinkys and bikes and GI Joes, but all I saw was the sad look in the kid's eyes who had once played with those toys, the loss of having one's items snatched away for someone else to browse through and buy on their lazy Sunday off was something I knew all too well.

I knew where the necklace Arthur was selling had come from; I had seen it hanging prettily from a smooth, feminine neck so many times in the past. Swaying and shimmering a thousand shades of red as she would cradle me against her breast and sing softly. "Hush-hush, Alfred. It was only a nightmare."

Arthur barely paid Matthew any attention. My brother would toddle around the house, chewing his fist and calling out to our father, perpetually ignored. Arthur hadn't been there the day he had learned to walk, I think. Or the day he spoke his first word, which was "cranberry." Nor was he there to send him off to his first day of kindergarten. His birthdays were often over-looked, so I would take his chubby little hand and lead him out to the small off-shoot of the St. Louis river that ran near our home to play and attempt to catch frogs. It was better than staying home with Arthur, who would be laying into drink after drink and ranting angrily about everything from the economy to how life was when he was young. At the end of the night, after Matthew and I had slipped into the house and I had helped him into bed, I would lay awake and listen to my father cry in long and ragged sobs.

Sometimes, on days when he was particularly sloshed, he would come up behind me and wrap me in a firm hug. "You look so much like her." He would say, bending at the waist to bury his face in the crook of where my neck met shoulder and inhale deeply through his nose. Other times, I would catch him just staring at me from across the room as I played with Matthew. Or I would be taking my nightly shower and he would just let himself in, regardless of whether or not I had locked the door, and sit on the lowered toilet seat to watch me in silence.

Just before Matthew's ninth birthday, when I was nearly thirteen, Arthur had been drinking heavier than I had ever seen him before. He could barely stand, but at least he was relatively quiet. At nine o' clock Matthew went off to bed, but before I could follow Arthur called for me to stay.

"Come over here, Alfred." He had said, patting the cushion beside himself. I came to him, apprehensive that I was in trouble for something, and sat. "I miss her."

I nodded, knowing this rant like I knew the back of his hand.

"I was never very fond of the French, but your mother… She was just so beautiful." He slurred, leaning back and looking at me. He reached out and let the back of his fingers lightly brush my cheek, "You look so much like her."

I wasn't sure what to say or do so I just sat there, hands on my lap and eyes on the floor. This was not was I had expected. This particular diatribe would usually veer off into a deep explanation of what was wrong with the French, and any physical contact would be of the painful variety. His touch slid from my face and up through my hair before all of a sudden I could feel his weight pressed up against me and his reeking breath ghosting over my shoulder. I went ridged with shock and winced at the slimy feeling of his tongue sliding over my neck. It all happened so fast I barely had time to try to register the feeling of my clothes being tugged off and the sound of him repeating how much I looked like her and how sorry he was in nothing more than a series of breathy grunts. I don't remember much else of it beyond the sharp and burning pain and how relieved I was when it was all over.

He pulled away from me and something about the sensation wrenched a long sob from my throat, I had been next to silent up to that point, and he just sneered and dropped my clothes into my shaking arms. "Get out, I'm sick of looking at you." He had said, zipping his fly and knocking back the last of his beer.

I scurried back to my room in a haze of pain and disbelief. The next morning he went about his business as if nothing had happened, and so did I. Life went on and the world kept turning, but with an increasing amount of late-night visits from that point on. Over time he became more brash about it, calling on me in the middle of the day and even when Matthew was around.

Time past, and we went about our lives. I was sixteen and an overall shut-in. I had next to no friends in school, no after school activities, no dreams or ambitions. I was existing, floating through my youth in a haze of adolescent ennui. I spent my days down by the river with Matthew, skipping stones and fishing for the Walleye that we knew didn't follow the current that far. Sometimes I would sit beside him in the warm summer sun and read Spiderman, Superman, or Batman aloud, excitedly narrating the adventures printed on color-dotted paper as he looked down at the pages in wonder. He would tell me about his time in school, speaking of an endless amount of friends and acquaintances. I wanted someone to be excited about. I wanted to spend my free time amongst friends, find a pretty little girlfriend who would never so much as raise her voice in anger, and just live.

One sunny May morning we were all sitting around the kitchen table, eating in silence. That's how meals usually went in my house, you eat, you clean your mess, and you go away. Matthew was nursing a bowl of cereal as I worked my way through a bagel as Arthur sipped tea and read the newspaper. The sound of the clock on the wall was deafening as it ticked away our Sunday. Matthew tilted his bowl to his lips and drank down the remaining milk with a series of hushed swallows before he set the dish down and turned to Arthur.

"Daddy, can I go play outside ?" He asked, scooting his chair back and standing.

"Wash your bowl first." Came a reply muttered past his white mug. He didn't even bother to throw a glance Matthew's way. Somehow, I had always felt that his cold indifference was much worse than anything he had done to me. He acted as if Matthew didn't even exist most of the time; forgetting to buy him dinner when he would swing through some fast food restaurant on his way home from work, neglecting to pick him up after some long-running school function, unable to remember his full name. It was Matthew Williams Jones, middle name chosen by our mother when she was pregnant. It was her maiden name. I knew he hadn't really forgotten, but he tried to make it seem that way.

I spoke through the hunk of cream-coated bread in my mouth, "We should go fishing, Mattie." He smiled and nodded lightly as he went about taking up his bowl and glass. As he made his way to the sink Arthur folded his paper and set in onto the table, followed by his mug.

"Before you go out, I need to see you in my office, Alfred."

"But-"

"No 'buts.'" He stood and walked down the hall toward his small office. I let out a quiet sigh and grimaced before turning to Matthew.

"I'd rather just get this done and over with, can you wash my bowl too so when I'm done I can come out with you?" He nodded and smiled gently, probably thinking I was in for a harsh tirade for something I had done wrong. I thanked him and slowly made my way down the small hall, the sound of my shoes scraping the old carpet with each step melding with the soft hum of water in the kitchen. I stood outside the door for a moment, looking at as if it was diseased, before I took a deep breath and walked inside.

Arthur was sitting at his computer desk, his chair turned to face the door and a fresh beer in his hand. He was a man of convenient tastes, and because of that there was a mini-fridge or cooler full of booze in almost every room throughout the house. I pushed the door shut behind myself and leaned up against it, tilting my eyes to look at the floor.

"Yeah, Arthur?" I asked, wondering what Matthew was doing. Was he already outside? Did he remember to bring buckets for our catches this time?

"Come here." He said it past the can at his lips and made a waving motion with his free hand. I looked up at him and scowled before I shook my head from side to side.

"I don't want to right now." _I never wanted to in the first place._

He set the beer aside and tapped his fingers on the armrest a few times before he spoke. "I can call Matthew in here, if you prefer."

I bit my lip and detached myself from the door, my hands clenching into fists as I made my way to him and dropped to my knees just before his lap. Disgust and rage swam through my mind as I pulled his fly down and did what I had to do, intent on just getting it done and over with. It didn't take too terribly long, it never did, and I gagged when he pushed my head down and it came flowing out into my throat. I hated the taste, it made me want to throw up, and it just got worse the more he drank. I pulled back, coughing, and spat it on the floor. A kick to my shoulder hard enough to send me tipping back onto my ass was all of the communication necessary to tell me how displeased he was at me making a mess of the grey-white tile.

A few paper towels and a bit of scrubbing later, I was pulling my thin sweater over my shoulders and hurrying out the door to meet up with Matthew down by the river. I noticed that the crappy little hand-made fishing poles were missing from their spot by the door (Arthur had sold the real ones ages ago). I ran out into the warming morning air, glad that the bitter cold of winter was still months away, and jogged to the small river. I saw Matthew standing there, presumably baiting his line, and all at once forgot about any lingering bitterness I was feeling toward Arthur. Today was going to be just me and Matthew, laying around the riverbank and wasting time. That's all youth is about, isn't it? Life lived through a thick sheen of innocent laziness.

My steps slowed to a walk and I knew that was what I wanted for myself; innocent, youthful uncaring about the dark void that was the adult world. Matthew heard a stick snap under my foot and turned with a sunny smile. He waved and called me over, and I went back to my slow jog. When I was finally beside him he cast out his line and sat on a small flat rock. "What were you in trouble for?" He asked offhandedly.

I picked up my own pole and dropped the worm-baited hook into the water. "Catch anything yet?"

He shook his head, "Not yet, but I've only been out here for maybe ten minutes." I nodded and we fell silent, the sounds of birds and bugs and the slow creek filled my senses. The air smelled cool and fresh and blew gently through the tall river grass. It was peaceful. It was boring. I counted the seconds until I would turn eighteen and be able to finally move somewhere far, far away. I would finally tell Arthur off, toss my few belongings together, grab Mattie, and go somewhere where my old man could never find us. Disappear off into the wilds of the vast world and start over. I knew it ridiculous, but entertaining the thought made me feel romantically hopeful, and I was always a sucker for happy endings (however embarrassing that may be).

We spent the day catching nothing but weeds and sticks, skipping stones, and digging up more worms. We dropped them into one of the buckets we brought with us until it was almost full of the wriggling little things before packing our belongings and heading back to the house with the warmth of the setting sun on our backs. When we got to the yard, Arthur was almost to his car. He motioned to us to come closer so that he would not need to yell.

"I'm going out for a while." He said to me, pulling the car keys from his pocket and jiggling them. "Clean up a little before you go to bed."

I nodded and took Matthew by the arm, then pulled him to the house as the sound of the car starting broke the peace of the evening air. He and I went about cleaning up the mess of cans and wrappers that littered almost every surface in the house before Matthew announced that it was time for him to turn in. I bid him goodnight and he retreated into his room to go to sleep at around nine-thirty. He was always one to be in bed early. I found myself bored and wide-awake, so I padded my way into the kitchen and pulled out a few of Arthur's beers. I went to sit out on the deck and breathed in the fresh air. If anything, I guess I can understand why Arthur drank so much. I can't remember when I started secretly taking them but I suppose that didn't matter. As long as he didn't find out about it, I was fine.

I chucked the can I had finished out into the woods close to our house and it landed in the bushes with a muffled little scrape, before I opened another one and reclined back on one of the plastic fold-out chairs that decorated the porch. I hated that place; I hated the silence of our yard at night, I hated the multitudes of stars, I hated the crappily constructed façade of a life we had built up. I drained the can with a few long pulls and tossed it away. The only reason I was still there was because you can't live alone when you're sixteen. Or at least I couldn't, not with my crappy grades and general apathy toward everything that came my way.

Homework was for the kids with the perfect Wishbone family lives; the teens who would come home and play Scrabble around the table every Thursday as a family and laugh together over some comedy flick. It's hard to find the energy to care about Algebra when you can barely sit down and solid food is out of the question for the rest of the week.

Some five beers later, I went back inside with the full intention of raiding the fridge until I puked. As I stumbled down the hallway and my vision started to swim, I noticed that Matthew had left his door open. I went to close it, as if an unlocked door would stop Arthur when he got home on the off chance that he had finally grown sick of me, and instead poked my head inside. Matthew was lying there in his loose hand-me-down Popeye pajama pants and over-sized white T-shirt, sleeping quietly with his mouth slack. I walked in, shutting the door behind myself, and sat at the edge of his bed.

Somehow, he seemed to be the only thing that wasn't part of the hideous void that made up living. He was unaffected by it, not even a piece of it. He was a separate entity from everything else in the world, and he was exclusively mine. Arthur chose to ignore him, acknowledging his existence only when the law or threatening me was involved. Matthew never demanded anything of me, he looked up to me (what a joke) and was completely honest in ways that no one else seemed capable. I loved him for that. He was lucky, too lucky. He was the reason our mother was dead, after all. He was the reason my life was a perpetual shit-hole, and he was the reason the whole world was so fucked up. I hated him for that.

I can't really say why I didn't just get up and leave. Why I didn't slowly make my way into the kitchen and scarf down as much food as I could fit inside and struggle through a spinning world back into my room to pass out in a puddle of my own drool like I normally did. I reached out and touched his cheek, it was so warm and soft. That was the first in a long line of mistakes to come. Before the idea had even solidified in my mind, I leaned down over him and placed a little peck of a kiss on his lips. My hand traced the line of his small jaw, yet to ever taste the stubble of puberty, and traveled down over his chest. It rose and fell with the slowness of a deep sleep, and my touch slid down to the little bump of his hip bone.

I can't make excuses for this without sounding like _him_. I could rant on and on, give out a thousand reasons, but they would all boil down to the same thing: empty rationalizations.

He was awake by the time his pants were halfway down. He looked at me, gaze hazed in sleep and confusion, before he opened his mouth to speak. I clamped my hand over his lips and shushed him as I tossed his pajamas to the floor. The encounter is a blurred memory to me, with only a brilliant shame standing out in my mind.

"Sssh, Mattie. Be quiet, 'kay?"

"Stop it, that feels really weird!" I had needed both hands for a moment, and he jumped at the opportunity to speak.

"Ah! Al, stop it, it hurts!"

"Be quiet or he'll hear you." I was terrified that Arthur would come home at that very moment and find out. I knew he wanted Arthur to know, he wanted him to hear and come running and save him from the torture I was putting him through. All I could think was that Arthur would see and he would toss me aside for Matthew. I knew that he would turn his hideous sights on my little brother, the only thing that I could ever really call 'mine.'

When I finally pulled away from him, he didn't move or try and cover himself. He just laid there, staring up at the ceiling with tiny sobs shaking his chest and hot tears rolling from the corners of his eyes to become lost in his hair. I buttoned my jeans before I moved him a bit to pull his pants back on, noticing a bit of blood pooling on the sheets beneath him. The color made me feel sick so after he was redressed I quickly made my way to the door. As I closed it behind myself, I turned to cast a quick glance at him.

"Tell Arthur and I'll kill you."

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

The sun was peeking from behind a cluster of pine trees as Matthew and I made our trek to the nearby school, a tiny building in which each grade occupied a single room. The walk was painfully silent, with only the sounds of our footsteps over the gravel road interrupting the long calls of a pair of Loons. I rearranged my backpack over my shoulder and took a moment to steal a glance at him; he was watching the ground as he walked with an uncomfortable look on his face.

I cleared my throat awkwardly, "Did you finish your homework?"

"Yeah, I only had math." He nodded weakly.

"Lucky, I had math, science, and history."

"Ah." We fell back into that uncomfortable silence and remained in it until we got to school and parted ways. He barely looked at me the entire day, only opening his mouth to say something when I asked him a question or to show that he was listening. During my classes, I dwelled in a perpetual state of anxiety. He was sure to tell someone, if not a teacher then one of his many friends. Between classes he ignored me, opting to take up his classmates in whatever they had planned.

I envied him. It was like everyone knew who he was, and they all hung on his every word. His charisma bumped him to a place on the student council, and it seemed that almost every day of his life was filled with people more than willing to talk to him. A stark contrast with my social life. Most people kept their distance, as if I was plagued, and rumors passed from person to person about how 'creepy' I was. I never did anything to warrant those accusations, unless overall quietness was enough to brand someone as unlikable.

When the final bell rang and no one had come to arrest me (I had just assumed prison was the place I would have ended up) I finally let myself calm down a bit. Matthew was waiting for me at the entrance of the school, which was strange, since I was sure that the student council had a meeting that day. I patted him on the shoulder when I was close enough, and he jumped higher than the little touch warranted.

"Don't you have club?" I asked with a little tilt of the head.

"I'm not feeling up to it." He kept his eyes on the ground and his voice was barely above a whisper. I frowned but said nothing else, and we began walking home.

Halfway through town, I offered to treat him to whatever he wanted. He requested ice cream, and I got it for him. We sat in the shop, quietly enjoying out frozen treats for some five minutes before he asked me how my day was. Things rolled along into a normal conversation and I couldn't help but smile. It was like nothing had ever happened, with the exception of the clear discomfort that forced him to sit at an awkward angle. I was so relieved, he was treating me normally again. He was over it, and things would go back to the way they had been.

If I was going to be a bastard, at least Matthew was still happy. I would lavish him in anything he wanted, any time he asked. I would make him happy, and make him forgive me, regardless of what it took.

When we got home he went to his room to start on his homework, and as I made my way to the bathroom Arthur stopped me and whispered something into my ear. I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, and took far longer than necessary to get ready for bed in the hopes that he would have fallen asleep before I was out of the bathroom. I saw Arthur's door slightly ajar (it always was when he was requesting me) and as I went inside I sighed; I was in for a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Each week I would get an allowance that was part of the unspoken agreement between Arthur and myself for keeping my mouth shut about our home life. Twenty dollars, which may not sound like a lot, but considering how poor we were it was a massive price. Normally I would spend it on junk food or save up for a new pair of shoes now and then, when mine had become all but ugly tatters. Sometimes I would have to work extra hard with Arthur in order to get a dime, more often than not when his coolers were running low and there was actually more food in the fridge than booze. Other times he just liked to make me jump through hoops for it. I had been doing that more than ever by then. I would have to come up with new and creative ways to entertain him, or swallow my pride and beg for it while he was pushing into me.

"You're such a slag." He would mock, sneering in that damnable way and throwing a few wadded up bills at me. I would slink out of the room to shower, and before I stepped into the spray I would stand in front of the bathroom mirror and pick at my face incessantly. Twenty bucks worth of junk food a week was hell on the complexion. I would scrutinize how much weight I had gained down to the smallest kilogram. Of course I didn't want to be fat (I was never fat-fat, just chubby), who does? It's just that Arthur found it ugly and would leave me alone for longer stretches when I was less than fit. It can also be said that there was a certain morbid satisfaction in stuffing down enough food to make myself throw up on a regular basis.

I needed the money he gave for less selfish reasons now, with treating Matthew nearly every day and all. Arthur never gave him so much as a dime so it was relatively easy to impress him with the things I bought. Trips out for ice cream on the way home from school, movies on weekends, little surprise gifts throughout the week. It was shockingly easy to please him. Every time I got him something it was like the rift of awkwardness between us would shrink bit by bit. I felt a little bad that I was eating into the time he usually set aside for his friends. I promised myself that once my previous shameful transgression was properly made up for I would save "brotherly bonding time" for later in the day. Or weekends. I didn't want him neglecting his friends too much, lest he lose them. One solo loser in the family was more than enough.

Presently, Matthew sat on a log beside our house, finishing off the cone of Maple Nut ice cream I had bought him. He closed his eyes as he ate, holding the cone lightly in both hands and licking away at it like it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. That made sense; he very rarely got treats. His shoelaces had fallen undone at some point during the long walk home and the little strips swished back and forth with the lazy kicks of his pale legs.

"You're gonna trip and break your neck." I said, getting up from my perch on a large rock to kneel in front of him and start tying the laces.

"I can do it myself, I'm not a little kid." He said past the cream in his mouth, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at me. I caught his gaze past the smoothness of his knee and just smiled. Shorts really did become him. He let out a huffed little "well thanks, anyway" and turned away just as a fat blob of melted ice cream dropped down from the edge of his cone and landed square on his knee.

Without thinking, I leaned forward and lapped the little droplet up with my tongue. It was a sweet mixture of melted dessert and the muted taste of his warm flesh. He opened his mouth to protest the unsanitary nature of what I had done, but before more than a few words could escape I swooped up and hushed him with a firm kiss. His lips were cold and a little sticky, and he didn't kiss me back. It only lasted a moment before I pulled away. Licking the lightly sweet flavor from my lips, I looked around awkwardly.

I opened my mouth but no words came, so I just shrugged and tossed him a little smile. He stared at me a moment, as if fishing for words, before he just went back to eating his ice cream in silence. A light blush tinted his cheeks. We sat wordlessly, with only the soft sound of wind rustling through cat tails and the evenly spaced croaking of frogs to break the quiet, until the sun was setting and a warm breeze pushed in from the East.

When we got home Arthur was sitting in the living room, watching a rerun of some old British drama and sipping what was most likely a spiked cup of tea. He turned and regarded me with a tiny cock of his head in lieu of "come here."

"Yeah, Arthur?" I asked from the doorway as Matthew continued to his room. He never expected to be called on by the old man.

"Take out the garbage." He said through another long sip, his gaze sliding over me like some wet, disgusting thing.

"Okay." _Fuck off. _As the night went on I had a thousand things I wanted to say, but none of them dared pass my lips.

"Alfred, wash the dishes."

"Yeah." _Do it yourself, you piece of shit._

"Alfred, come into my study."

"Coming." _I hate you._

"More tongue."

"Mmph." _I hate you._

"Swallow it this time."

"'Kay." _**I hate you**__._

I was disgusted by the stuff, it was slimy and bitter. I wanted to spit it in his face, I wanted to throw it all up right back onto him, I wanted to bite his dick off and spit _that_ in his face. There were a lot of things I _wanted_ to do. I probably made a pretty hilarious expression when I forced his spunk down. I knew doing any of those things would just make him mad, and the last thing I wanted to deal with was a black eye.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

"I think it might be too late for an ice pack to do much good." Matthew pointed out to me the next morning as he inspected the smooth blue-purple ring around my left eye. It had swelled something hideous the night before, to the point where I couldn't even open it, but I had ignored it and went off to sleep.

I nodded and stuffed the last bite of toast into my mouth. It could be worse, it could have been the whole "raccoon affair" again (try explaining that away to nosy teachers) or another broken bone. My left hand still ached when it got cold and it made me feel like an old man with arthritis. Regardless of what was wrong with me, I always had to keep a believable excuse lined up. What would it be this time? I had already used easy ones like walking into things, falling off of things, general clumsiness. The time I had to spend three days in the hospital forced me to come up with something lame like, "well I thought drinking Pinesaul would kill my appetite so I wouldn't get teased in school for being the fat kid." As if I would think something so stupid, but it was the best I could come up with at the time. It was better than, "Arthur said it was either that or he'd pour it in my eyes until I went blind."

Matthew picked up my empty plate on his way to the sink as Arthur came out of the bathroom, briskly drying his hair with an orange towel. He cast a quick look down at me as he walked past to rummage around in the refrigerator. I knew what that look meant; _If anyone comes around to ask me about that you'll have a lot more than a sore eye to worry about._

_Imply something I don't already know, old man. _Was what I wanted to say but couldn't work up the gall. I stood up to finish getting ready for school just as he was walking past, and this time I had the pleasure of using my full height to look down at him and shoot a little glare. He cracked a little condescending smile as he caught my gaze and held it. After a tense moment my gaze dropped to the table. He chuckled and continued on his way to his room with an apple in hand. I was taller than he was, and could probably kick his ass in a fight if I needed to, but he knew I didn't have the balls to try and that really pissed me off. Every time I saw him all I wanted was to sock him in the mouth, but I never could seem to work up the courage.

Except last night, I had worked up the balls to half-whisper a little "screw off." _Well, so much for that little stab at rebellion. _I thought, reaching up to poke the sore flesh of my eye softly. What I wouldn't have given to be eighteen right then and there, I was tired of living under his tyrannical rule. If I was old enough, I would finally be able to strike out on my own and-

"Alfred, we're gonna be late." Matthew said to me, patting my arm as he hurried into his room to grab his backpack. I let out an exaggerated sigh, I was in no mood to parade my shiner around school, and went to grab my own bag.

The walk to school was a short and decidedly uneventful one, but I was filled with apprehension. I kept messing with my hair, trying to get it to cover the dark bruise around my eye without any luck. It was just too short. I considered growing it out longer, like Matthew's, but then let the idea die. What good would slightly longer hair do me later when I had a bruise right there and then?

We walked into the building and parted ways with a little wave. I stuffed my backpack into my locker after taking out a couple notebooks, then quickly made my way to my classroom. I slid into my seat and was sure not to look up in the hopes that no one would notice the bruise.

"W'sup, Tubbs?" I heard a loud voice from behind me just before a hard slap landed on the back of my head. I turned and forced a strained smile. It was a kid in my class, Michael Freznau. His bag was slung over one shoulder and he was looking down at me contemptuously. He loudly snapped a piece of gum between words and that was probably the worst thing about him. Even the way he _chewed_ was smug.

"What?" I barely managed to meet his eyes, and knowing my hesitation made me a little sick with anger.

He walked to my side and let out a long, drawn out whistle. "Woah-ho-ho, Jones, would ya' look at that shiner. What happened? Did your momma crawl up outta the ground and sock ya' for bein' such a little puss?"

I laughed humorlessly and opened my notebook to pull out my half-completed homework. "You're hilarious, you know that?" He just laughed, a barking and nerve-wracking sound, as he walked a few desks away to sit down and pull out his own papers. Of everyone in the school, I hated him the most. He was a nosy, entitled prick who also happened to be the son of the principle. He never saw any real trouble for the things he did, the classes he skipped, the rules he broke. He and his father had that deep kind of bond that allowed for him to talk his way out of anything.

By the time I realized that I was clenching my fists, my nails had dug little red half-moons into my palms.

The day went by like any other. I managed to hide my shiner from my teacher, or they had seen enough cuts and bruises on me to stop caring. I spent my lunch alone, sitting at my usual table off in the far corner of the cafeteria and idly poking my meal of soggy fish sticks and French fries. I eyed my fellow students in boredom. A gaggle of goth kids in a shadier portion of the room, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices about the "pain of living" like they always seemed to. The jock and cheerleader table in the middle of the room, rowdy and loud and headed by none other than Freznau. Across the room was Matthew and his group, a veritable hive of kids babbling excitedly amongst one another.

Past the little girls with their frizzy hair and shiny braces, the boys with warbling voices and one thousand watts of pent-up energy, was my brother. Young, sweet, innocent, kind Matthew nibbling at fries and laughing politely at jokes. Florescent light lit his delicate curls, making him shine past the mess of uninteresting, plain children that filled the room.

I was so caught up in looking at him that I didn't see the ball until it hit my square in the forehead. A roar of laughter came from the middle of the room, _his_ table, and it finally processed that Michael must have lobbed a football at me while I wasn't paying attention. I cast them all a glare and they only laughed louder.

The bell rang and the room cleared out quickly. The rest of the day passed by uneventfully, and by the last bell I was more than ready to head home. Matthew stopped me by my locker, telling me to go on without him since he had a meeting that day. I tossed my things together and started on my way home, hoping Arthur would be out when I arrived.

I turned a corner to head down one of the alleys I normally took as a faster route home and ran straight into Michael. He was just leaning there against the wall, his new ten-speed bike standing close by. Although I wondered what he was doing there, I just ducked my head and hurried a little, hoping he wouldn't bother me.

"Sup, faggot?"

I stopped in my tracks, gritting my teeth and squeezing the strap of my bag. I turned slightly to look at him. "Fuck off Mike, I'm not in the mood."

He laughed, a quick bark of a sound, and dislodged himself from the wall. "What's got your panties in a bunch, Jones?"

Deciding to ignore him, I just turned and started away. He grabbed me by the forearm and spun me around to face him. He was the same height as me, stockier from playing the quarterback in the school football team for the past year, his ash-gray eyes dancing in mirth.

"I don't remember saying you could walk away, faggot." He pushed me and my back hit the hard brick wall with a dull thump that hurt more than it sounded like it did. "You didn't give my ball back at lunch."

I said nothing and his grip on my arm grew tighter and tighter until I hissed in pain and tried to squirm away.

"I think you owe me an apology."

"Fuck you." I managed to get out through clenched teeth.

"Said like a true f-a-g-g-o-t." He was a master of insults. "You owe me for making me waste my time going over to your piece of shit part of the lunch room to get my ball. How much money do you have on you?"

"I don't have any." It was a weak lie and he saw right through it. He yanked and twisted my arm until I cried out in pain and dropped my bag.

"Don't lie to me, Jones. Everyone knows you get money from your dad like the little papa's boy bitch you are. Hand it over."

I took a moment to think: If I just gave in and handed him the money, he'd let me go and I could head home. It would be the third time he'd extorted me in the last couple of months, and he was beginning to get brash about it. He had never stopped me in such a public area before. If I gave it to him, I could just grab my bag and go home. Go home and explain where my money went. Go home to Arthur and earn it all over again. I grit my teeth, made up my mind, and kicked him in the shin as hard as I could.

I wasn't about to listen to Arthur laugh at me over getting robbed again.

To my unfortunate surprise, he only yelped loudly in pain but didn't release me. He slammed me up against the wall again, wincing as he was forced to put his weight on his hurt leg to hold me properly. He punched me in the jaw with his free hand, sending my glasses skittering off down the dirty alley. Thankfully it was only his left hand so it didn't hurt as much as it could have. That small happiness didn't last long though, and I was bent double with a long wheezing hack when he slammed his knee into my stomach.

He let me go and I dropped to the concrete, gasping and retching. He scowled at me and flexed his leg a few times until the pain dulled. When he held his hand out, his expression pure contempt, I decided that it was best I just swallowed my pride and give in. From my pocket to his, that week's money was gone with barely so much as a muted crinkle.

"Nice doing business with ya, Jones." The sheer smugness in his tone made me hot with anger and embarrassment. He hopped onto his bike, chuffed another little laugh at me, and rode away.

I sighed, picked up my bag, glasses, and my pride. I dusted myself off and continued home. To my thorough dissatisfaction, Arthur's car was still sitting in the driveway. I found him in the kitchen preparing a scotch on the rocks, still wearing his cheap department store uniform as if there was no time to be wasted on changing before he got the venomous bite of booze on his tongue.

He turned his head to look at me, then behind me for a moment, then back into my eyes. "Where's the other one?"

I kicked my shoes off, finding any reason to break eye contact. "Student council meeting."

"Right." He muttered past the glass at his mouth. He leaned against the counter nonchalantly. "And what happened to you?"

"Nothing." All I wanted to do was rush to my room and stay locked in for the rest of the day. My arm and stomach still ached.

My old man nodded in a way that said he didn't actually care what was wrong with me. He downed his drink and set the glass aside. After taking a beer from the fridge he beckoned me to follow him down the hall, toward his room.

I grit my teeth, dropped my backpack on the table, and begrudgingly followed.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

A few hours later, not too long after Matthew had returned home and Arthur had gone off to the bar, we sat in the living room watching some old movie about killer birds. He worked through a report on and off while I drank my way through my fifth can of cheap beer.

I was draped over the couch, passively watching Matthew work as old-timey actresses wailed melodramatically on screen to the soundtrack of endless crowing. Eventually, after sucking down the last little slosh in my can with a grimace, I slowly slid to the floor. I wormed my way over to him and peeked past his hand for a moment to see his progress; something about George Washington's teeth not actually being wooden. My lips had that numb, tingling feeling that drunkenness provides and my mind swam, struggling to focus on any one thing for any period of time.

With some effort I pushed myself up to sit and slid in behind him, one leg on either side on his thin hips and my head resting against his shoulder.

"You stink."

"Mmph." My reply was muffled by his hair and the nearly threadbare fabric of the shirt I had passed down to him. He smelled like detergent and something sweet. My cheek rubbed against his neck and it was so warm, so smooth that I couldn't help but to turn and plant a kiss there. He stopped writing and tensed up immediately.

He sat there a moment, unmoving, as I placed a line of sloppy kisses across his neck and shoulder. Only after I kicked his notebook away and wrapped my legs around him did he say something.

"Alfred," he wriggled a bit but I just tightened my legs around him, "stop it, I don't wanna-"

I lightly covered his mouth with my hand, effectively silencing him. "Sssh, I promise it wont hurt this time." As my free hand trailed along his side, his chest, over his thighs hidden by denim, I couldn't seem to focus on a single thing. A million thoughts swam through my mind; Freznau's endless harassment, my old man's smug grin, the bitter taste of vomit on my lips that always followed an unnecessarily large meal, the goose bumps on Matthew's skin... I didn't want him to go through anything I had. I wanted to shelter him from it, the pain of the world. If the only way I could do it was to make him mine; something that only I could keep and love and control, then so be it. Somehow, at the time, it all made sense.

I ignored the warm tears as I pushed my free hand into his jeans.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Three months later, I noticed a flier up in the school hallway declaring football tryouts. I was tired of going straight home after school, I was tired of wasting away long hours at home, and most of all I was tired of my entire life revolving around housework and meeting Arthur's needs. I took the paper and shoved it into my pocket, oddly embarrassed that anyone would notice.

Alfred, the fat loner, trying to join the football team? What a joke.

Matthew was waiting for me when I reached the gate. He was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets and eyes down, all but blending into his surroundings. "Why are you here? Don't you have a meeting today?" I asked him.

"I quit." He pulled himself from the wall and started walking next to me, hurrying a bit to keep up.

"What? Why?"

He just shrugged. I couldn't blame him for not wanting to talk, his voice was starting to crack here and there and I was sure it was embarrassing as hell. On the way home I recounted my day, my excitement over the library's new addition of various comic books, musings about food, basically anything I could think of to fill the relative silence. He just nodded occasionally to show he was listening, adding a little bit to the conversation here and there.

It seemed like he had been getting quieter in the last few months. Well, quieter than usual. One by one he had dropped out of his extra curricular activities and his social circle seemed to be shrinking. More and more he chose to come straight home with me, to lie on my floor and do his homework. He never complained when I kissed his neck or touched his thigh. He would just sit there and accept it, so he couldn't have hated it.

"Hey!" Matthew exclaimed, rushing toward the river that spanned the long dirt road that led to our house. A puppy, probably some kind of Lab mix, was coming toward us with it's tail wagging. He met it and dropped to his knees to take it by the scruff.

"Where did it come from?" I asked him, as he dodged it's wet tongue and scratched behind it's ears.

"I dunno, some stray probably. But Al it's so cute. Let's ask dad if-"

"You know damn well he wont let us keep it."

Matthew turned to look at me while continuing to stroke the excited dog. "Well if we ask him really nicely..."

I shook my head 'no' and pulled him up by his arm. "You know he wont. How could we afford dog food? We can barely afford food for us."

Matthew cast a long, melancholy look the puppy's way and sighed. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." When he tried to shoo the thing, it just bounced around playfully. I stepped in, chasing it back the way it came and yelling to be sure it didn't come back.

When we got home, Arthur wasn't there. There was no note, but there never was, and I didn't much care to know where he went either way. I hoped he had finally driven his drunk ass off of the road and would be gone from my life forever. Matthew followed me to my room and dropped his bag on the floor next to my bed before stretching out over my covers and sighing heavily.

"I wish we could'a kept that puppy."

"I know." I set my bag next to him and sat on the edge of my bed. "But you know what Arthur is like."

"Strict."

"Well I was gonna say 'an asshole' but I guess that works too." I said, leaning over him and kissing the back of his neck. He didn't protest, used to it at this point, so I kept on until I heard the loud slam of the front door and the tiny hairs along my spine stood on end. I threw myself to standing and cleared my throat before going to my dresser and pulling out an old issue of Spiderman that I had filched from the local book store. Isat cross-legged on the floor to read it.

Matthew didn't say anything and pulled his homework from his backpack.

"Al!" Arthur yelled from the kitchen. Judging from the slur in his voice, he had been drinking earlier than usual.

I sighed and went to go see what he wanted. He was digging around in the fridge and grumbling to himself when I got into the kitchen. "Yeah?"

"We're out of sandwich meat you fat git." He snapped, slamming the door shut.

"I didn't eat it." I said, and it was the truth. I hadn't over-eaten in almost two weeks. I had been pretty proud of myself about that.

"Yeah fucking right, look at you." He growled and popped open a beer. I noticed that he looked thinner than usual and the edge of the whites of his eyes seemed to be slightly yellow in color. He took a long pull from the can then told me to follow him to his room. With a heavy sigh I agreed.

Afterwards, when I was pulling my jeans back on ("Leave your shirt on," he had said, "I don't want to see your gross fat body.") I told him that I would be late home the next day.

"Why?"

"Football tryouts." When he laughed I rolled my eyes. Of course he would laugh, the asshole. "I'm trying to get in shape." I muttered as I left the room.

"That'd be a right miracle!" His condescending laughter follow me down the hall, all the way into the kitchen. I ended up eating three cans of ravioli and later throwing it all back up.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww www

The school day went by far too quickly. I felt like I was sweating bullets as I waited in the locker room for tryouts. I was being stupid, there was no way I was going to make the team. I was just going to embarrass myself. Arthur was right, someone as lazy and useless as me could nev-

"Woah-ho-ho, if it isn't fagbag Jones?" Freznau broke my line of thought. Shit, I had forgotten he was on the team. How could I forget? Stupid, stupid, stupid! He was with two other guys from the team who were trailing him like well trained dogs.

"Fuck off, Mike." I muttered, eyes dropping to the ground. Damn it, I was such a pussy.

He and his boys burst out laughing at my pathetic attempt to talk back before Freznau pushed me back up against the lockers with a painful slam. "Who do you think you're talking to like that?" He asked me, that irritating smirk never leaving his face.

"Now apologize."

I glared at him. "No."

He moved his face closer to mine until we were only inches apart. "Apologize. Or do I need to kick your ass again?"

"Fuck you."

His smile faded into an irritated frown, probably at being defied in front of his posse. He opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by the bellowing voice of the PE teacher, who doubled as the coach.

"Line up, ladies!"

All of the people trying out, maybe five guys, went to stand in front of the teacher. The chances weren't exactly against me, but they only had one opening so I felt like it would still be a triumph. I pushed Freznau's hand off of me and went to join them, glad he wouldn't do anything while the coach was there. Threats or violence would get him cut from the team. Try-outs was both horrible and enjoyable. It was hot, even with the cool wind that blew every now and then. It made me so tired that I wanted to lay down on the grass and pass out. I had to admit, though, it was pretty fun throwing people around.

Afterwards I got dressed in a stall and started home. Screw showering with a bunch of guys, I could clean up in my own house. A little ways down, on the edge of town, I heard the tell-tale sound of Mike's bike approaching. I sighed; I was in no mood for his shit. He swung up next to me and stopped. When he got up he allowed his bike to hit the ground.

"Are you serious?" He asked me.

I squeezed the strap of my bag in frustration and looked at him before forcing "about what?" through my teeth.

"You actually think you'd get accepted onto my team? That'd be a damn miracle." He laughed condescendingly. I stared at him for what felt like forever, my anger building. I hated him so much, and I was so sick and tired of his shit. I didn't care anymore; not about getting my ass kicked, not about what Arthur would do, not about what the principal would do. I took a deep breath, let it out, cracked my knuckles, and set my back pack down.

He chuckled. "What, ready to get your ass kicked again?"

I took two steps forward, and as he lifted his arms, I let out one punch straight at his face. I threw it as fast and as hard as I could, and my eyes widened in shock when it connected directly with his nose. He yelled in pain, hands going to his face.

"Jesus Christ what the fuck, man!"

I clenched and unclenched my hand a couple of times. That had been _amazing_. It hurt a little, but god it was so exhilarating to hit someone!

"You son of a bitch you broke my fucking nose!" Freznau continued, bent over in pain. I turned to him and kicked him in the ass, sending him sprawling to the pavement. Without even thinking, I dropped down over him, flipped him over, and beat the living shit out of him. It felt _so good_. It felt good like eating everything in sight, eating until you puke. If felt good like a cold beer after a long day, like the little whimpers Matt made with his hands over his mouth and legs spread. Like running myself ragged at try-outs. I didn't say a word, I just kept hitting him until my arm was sore and cramping. I at once cursed being out of shape: I wasn't ready to stop.

Panting heavily, I stood up over him and winced at the pain in my hand. There was so much blood I thought for a second that he was dead, until he gave a gurgled cough and groaned. I slammed my foot down on his chest, stirring up a long series of wheezing coughs that ejected the tooth I had apparently knocked free.

"If you tell _anyone_ I did this, I swear I will fucking kill you." I accentuated each word with a firm press on his chest. "Do. You. Understand?" Ugh, I sounded just like _him_.

I didn't wait for his reply. I grabbed my bag and took up his bike, then hopped on. "Also, you gave this to me." I told him before riding off home.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww wwwwwwwwwwww

The next day, Michael wasn't in class and I wasn't called to the office. I checked out the try-out results and saw, to my great shock, that I had made the team. I smiled, quite pleased with myself, and at the end of the day Matthew and I started home together. I peddled and he stood on the bike's pegs, clinging to my shoulders for dear life. At home, I was greeted by a glass shattering against the wall just above my head.

"J-Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you doing?!" I demanded, shirking away from the spray of glass.

"Don't fucking talk to me like that you twat!" Arthur yelled back. "Now where the hell are my god damned hot dogs?"

"Damn dad, I don't know."

He pointed at me sternly. "Stop stealing the damn food."

"I'm not!"

"I have to eat too you greedy little dick." He grumbled, pulling the fridge open to search for something else.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Leave it to him to get all bent out of shape over something he probably ate when he was blacked out. Later, when I was lying around in my room trying to focus on a page of homework, Matthew let himself in.

"Alfred, come outside with me." I wasn't getting anywhere on my report anyway so I decided to follow him out of the house. We went out to the back yard and to the shed, and when he let me in I found that same puppy from the day before.

"What is this doing here?"

"Well, um... I've been keeping her for a week now and that's where all the food is going." He confessed. "You only saw her yesterday because she got out."

"Yeah, but _what is this doing here_? You know Arthur will get pissed if he finds it."

"It's a she and I named her Manitoba."

"Why the hell would you name a dog that?"

"I don't know, I felt like it?" He closed the door quietly behind himself and sat on the floor to pet the puppy. "Please don't tell dad."

"I wont." I bent down to pet her and continued. "But you should really get rid of her."

"I will when she's older and can take care of herself."

"...Fine."

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww wwwwwwwwww

For the next few days, I would go to practice, then I would jog a half-mile (I was working my way up), then weight lifting. Football was a lot of fun and I didn't want to be cut for being so out of shape. After that, I would go with Matthew to play with the dog. I spent more time out of the house, and it seemed like Arthur wasn't feeling well so he was all but leaving me alone.

One evening, I was sitting in the shed with Matthew. I complained of soreness while he went about trying to teach the dog to sit and failing miserably. After a while I said that we probably should have been getting inside. It was dark and late and the old man was going to start freaking out soon. So we fed the dog the rest of the bacon we took from the fridge and walked out into the chilly air.

"So _this_ is what you're doing with the food_ I_ buy with _my_ money." Arthur said, slowly walking up to us and nodding in understanding. "You're feeding it to some bloody dog."

"Uh, well..." I looked down at the ground, feeling like I was going to have a stress-related heart attack. Ah fuck I was in _so much shit_.

He pushed past us to go into the shed and grab the dog by it's scruff. When he came out he held her up, bouncing her a little to accentuate his words. "Get rid of it. Today."

"But dad!" Matt gasped, running up to him. "She really doesn't eat that much. I'll just share all my food with her so we wont be using up too much."

Arthur looked past him and at me. "Get rid of it or I will."

"Dad, please! I'll get a job so I can pay for all her stuff myself." Matthew continued.

"Al." He narrowed his eyes at me. I called my brother's name, telling him to stop. We had to get rid of her. He didn't listen and just kept begging until he actually grabbed Arthur's arm. My old man finally turned and glared into Matt's eyes, raising an eyebrow as if to say "what the fuck do you want?"

"Then I'll get rid of it." He decided, turning and walking back to the house. When he returned, he held Manitoba is one hand and his handgun in the other.

"Wait, what? Dad don't shoot her!" Matthew cried. "Fine! I'll get rid of her! I'll do it right now."

I grabbed hold of Matt's upper arm and held him there. Arthur had shot at me once before and I was happy to keep it a one-time thing. Matthew pleaded for me to let go of him as Arthur walked around the other side of the shed with the dog. It let out a low whimper as it disappeared from sight, and then the loud clap of gunfire startled us both. Matt just stood there, staring, until I pulled him away. Arthur walked back inside as if nothing had happened, already looking around for his mixed drink.

Matthew looked like he was going to be sick, so I led him to the little area we usually hung out in by the river. He sat down on the cool ground and fought back tears, shaking lightly. I sat next to him. Moved closer. Leaned up against him and said, "It's alright, man... You tried." He just sniffed, a single rogue tear dropping from his eye to land on the denim of his jeans.

I bumped him with my shoulder then lapsed into silence. It made my skin crawl so I started up again. Talking about nothing, endless chatter to break that awful silence. I couldn't seem to snap him out of it. He just kind of stared down at his hands, forcing his tears not to fall. I doubted it was what he needed at the moment, but god knows I was dying. I leaned over and kissed his temple, his cheek, nipped his ear and slowly pushed him over. He just kind of laid out limply over the grass as I rolled him over and worked his pants off. Spit made a shitty lubricant but it would have to work, I would be extra gentle so it wouldn't hurt as much. I felt like a jackass, but the little yelp he made and the delicious heat I felt when I pushed into him just felt so good.

Finally a few tears broke through and slid down the sides of his face as he sniffled quietly. He was crying under me, shaking and sobbing, and I still did it. I begged him to stop, it was killing me. Making me feel like a lower piece of shit than I already knew I was. I kissed his wet cheeks and puffy eyes and held him tight, but I still didn't stop. I don't know why. By the time I was done, he had stopped crying and was just lying there staring up at the clouds.

"Al?" He asked me when I pulled away. He didn't try to get up yet.

"Hm?"

He blinked a few times, resting his hands on his belly. "Don't leave me here with him. Please."

I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "I wont, I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

From the minute I turned eighteen, all I could talk about was finding a job and moving out. I made half-baked plans with friends, I elaborated on what kind of place I wanted to live in when I hung out with Matthew, I threw it at Arthur as an insult during arguments. It was always "soon," I was going to start looking for a job "tomorrow," I circled good places in the paper and collected job applications that ended up covered in dust on my floor and under my bed.

In school I sat at the center table, with the jocks and the cheerleaders and the "popular" kids who were only liked within their own clique but felt that they deserved that misnomer. All it took to get into their group was to take up an acceptable hobby. I was actually very good at football and they had invited me to join them after I played a big part in winning one of my earlier games. They cheered and congratulated me and slapped me on the back as if every second of cruel teasing had never happened. Even Michael Freznau, perpetual thorn in my side, stepped back and allowed me into the fray with a strained smile that flashed the dark spot of a missing tooth.

All it took to woo the vapid women that spent their days talking about celebrities and hair and boys was a few nice words and about four drinks. I passed from one girl to the next, never really forming any kind of relationship. Blonde Marie who chewed her nails down into jagged nubs, brunette Cassandra with the small home-done tattoo on her ankle, chain-smoking Lisa. They came and went, seemingly unbothered by the uninterested way I would reply to whatever it was they were saying. They were all more than willing to spread their smooth, toned thighs for me and that was all that mattered.

Rising to the top of the heap required a short time of pitting friends against one another, of alienating those who disagreed with you, to be seen as the biggest. The toughest. The most powerful. Shoving matches in the halls, fights after school, tripping the weaker kids and laughing at their expense became regular activities. Money taken from younger, smaller, "unpopular" guys treated my group to cigarettes and booze and gas.

I didn't speak to Matthew in school. No one seemed to. He spent most of his time in the library reading, sitting out on the far side of the school field, alone in the cafeteria. At home, he followed me everywhere. I suggested he join some clubs again, that he make some friends. He just shook his head and would tell me, with the slightest ghost of a smile, that I was all he needed. It felt good to be wanted, to be needed. Every time he invited me into his room late at night, every touch to my thigh, every embarrassed little request he mumbled into my ear was that much more gratifying.

Arthur's demands became increasingly rare. He was sick and tired most of the time, and had been scooting by on unemployment for the better part of a year. I was starting to think it was more than stress, more than a bad night. Every time I asked him to see a doctor, he vehemently refused.

I spent most of my time out with friends, drinking and partying and getting laid. Fights became a regular thing. A member of my group for bumping into me, a kid in the hall for calling me an asshole, people who dared to look at me without respect, without fear. I found myself in and out of detention for fighting but I was so good at football that the coach pulled me out of trouble again and again. Michael stopped me in the middle of stomping some guy on the street, saying I just needed to calm down. I can't remember what the kid had done wrong, but it didn't warrant the beating I had given him.

I stopped kicking the kid in the ribs for a moment to turn around and shove my friend back a few steps. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, Mike?" I snapped, glaring at him.

Once he had caught his balance, he put his hands up in a show of good will before he spoke. "Al, I know he's a little bitch for what he did but I really don't think stomping him to death is gonna fix it." He spoke with a slight lisp now from the way his tongue would tap the hole where I had punched his tooth out that time I stole his bike.

I shoved him again and he lost his footing, falling back on his ass with a pained sound. "Al, calm the fuck down!" He snapped at me from where he sat.

I took in a long, shaky breath. All of that yelling had given me a monster of a headache. I heard the sound of the other kid finally jumping up and running away but didn't much care anymore. Whatever he had done didn't matter enough for me to chase him down. I took another breath and lifted my glasses to pinch the bridge of my nose before I spoke. "Try and tell me what I can and can't do again and I will beat the shit outta you, Mike."

I reached out to help him up, and he caught my hand and accepted the assistance. "I ain't telling you what you can do, man. I'm not your dad."

"My dad can't tell me shit either." I muttered before we dusted ourselves off and went off to wherever it was that we were going.

I stayed away from home as much as I could, avoiding Arthur and even Matthew. Over time my brother had become clingy and stifling, and every moment spent at home felt like prison. As time passed, it seemed like the only time I spent any real time with him was in quick late-night trysts before I left again. The day after I started dating Trudy Ankscrou he asked for sex and I said no for the first time.

"Wh-what?"

"No, Matt. You might not have noticed but I _do_ have a girlfriend."

He wrung his hands and stared at the ground next to my bed, his lips barely moving as he spoke. "But you don't need her..."

"And what makes you think I need you?" I snapped, irritated. I just wished he would leave me alone for once.

He stood there a moment, fishing for words. After an awful silence that felt like it stretched on forever, he finally asked me why I was angry with him.

"Because you're fucking irritating, now get out of my room so I can get ready." I was riding in the back of Freznau's hand-me-down green pickup to a party and he was going to be there for me in half an hour. Matthew just stood there, chewing his lip and contemplating what to do so I repeated the demand. He flinched at my raised voice and with a tiny nod left. I rolled my eyes and went back to fixing my hair in the mirror. Trudy was my first actual girlfriend, whether I found her interesting or not, and I intended on looking good for her.

She was a status thing, cementing my place at the top of the group. She was head cheerleader, thought of as the best-looking girl in the school, skinny and mean and looked up to by all of her friends. The ring-leader of the girls belonged with the leader of the boys, right?

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Arthur asked me, with a noticeable slur, from his place strewn out on the couch as I was pulling my shoes on.

"Out." I didn't wait to hear any kind of protest, my ride was pulling into our driveway and I was ready to go.

The party was as fun as one would expect. I got drunk, chatted with Trudy about whatever asinine things she liked, got in a fight with a guy over a spilled drink. I ended up camping out in the trailer of Mike's truck for the night with Trudy, talking about aspirations, drinking, and exploring her tight, fit body. I didn't come home that weekend, or up through until half of the week was over. I bounced around from one friend's house to another, sleeping on floors and couches and borrowing clothes that didn't fit quite right.

When I finally did come home, my brother was always there waiting. He would always ask me to do stuff with him; Card games, fishing, watching movies. Each time he asked I turned him down, and each refusal became more and more harsh. I wished he would just leave me alone. I was getting my own life, my own friends. Why couldn't he see that? Going to him was like giving it all up, throwing it all away. I refused to do it, and in turn refused him.

One Saturday morning, before I had gone out again, he stopped me in my room. "Alfred, you should break up with Trudy."

"And what the hell would I do that for?"

"She's not good for you." He replied.

I stopped digging in my dresser for a pair of matching socks to look at him and raise an eyebrow. "How so?" He stood there, eyes darting back and forth as he fished for an answer. Apparently he couldn't think of one, so I went back to digging. "You seriously need to find some friends. I'm not gonna be here forever, I'm looking for a place with Kent."

"I'm sure." He muttered, rolling his eyes. "Can't you just stay home this weekend?"

"You know the homecoming game is next Saturday." Of course I would be gone, there were going to be so many parties I would be expected to attend. I had tried inviting Arthur to the game, I always did, but he just dismissed me with a grunt as usual. I don't know why I even bothered, I was glad he wasn't going to show.

Matthew squeezed his hands into tight fists and glared at me a moment before stalking out of my room. That was the last time he bothered me about it.

The week came and went in a blur. At the game, after everyone was out on the field and lined up for the first play, I skimmed the crowd once, gaze passing over families and other students. Fat, skinny, tall, excited, bored. The bleachers were always dotted with so many faces but never anyone I wanted to see. I always looked, not really sure who I was looking for. Mathew came sometimes. He would sit off in the corner or stand just beside the bleachers, watching me in quiet interest. He would wander off by the time the game was over, and I was glad. I always left right after with Trudy and I wouldn't have been in any mood to deal with his jealous glares. That day, though, he wasn't there but off in one of the far bleachers looking uncomfortable and grumpy sat Arthur. I stood there a second, mouth agape. I hadn't expected him to come. He never came to my games, to anything. One of my team mates, a redhead named Kent, slapped me on the shoulder and snapped me out of it just before the first play got underway. I was distracted the entire game but we still won, and as we were leaving the field my father stopped me and asked where I was off to.

I tripped over my words a bit before I managed to spit out, "An after-party down at the gravel pit."

"How are you getting there?"

"Walking, I guess. Mike's truck is full-up."

"I'll take you." He didn't wait for me to accept, just turned and started toward our old beater of a car. The ride was silent but for the muted sound of whatever was playing on the radio and the wind blowing in from the slightly cracked windows. Finally, after what felt like forever he cleared his throat and said, "You're better than I expected."

I didn't know what to say but a quiet "thank you," and when we got to the clearing by a gravel pit where everyone was setting up he dropped me off and left without another word.

Some time later, I took Trudy out to a clearing in the woods on a bright night and treated her to dinner. I cooked it myself, and it was a little burnt, but she didn't complain too much. When we were done I presented her with a promise ring and asked her to prom. She gasped, and gushed, and cried out a "yes" at the top of her lungs as she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. At the time I thought I loved her, and she thought she loved me. We were naive, hormonal teenagers and we let our dislike of one another's flaws fall to the wayside for those quick heart-skipping moments of youthful lust.

The next day Matthew asked what I was so happy about, and when I told him about it he said it was a mistake. I said that it was none of his business and he insisted that the ring was a bad idea.

"She's no good for you, Al. She's mean and she berates you all the time. She just talks over you, and all you guys do is argue!"

"Like you'd know anything about relationships." I ended the conversation there, and went to the dance a week later. I borrowed some money from a friend, promising to pay him back when I found a job, and rented a tuxedo. A corsage for Trudy and tickets ate up the last of the money. We were forced to walk and she rolled her eyes and gave a quick "whatever" in reply to my apology.

"Can't your dad drive us?"

"He's sick."

"Why didn't you just get money from him for a cab or something then?" She demanded to know.

"Well he doesn't have a job so-"

"Ugh he gets unemployment you could have at least _asked_."

"It's not as simple as that-"

"Oh. My. God, yes it is!"

"Trudy it really isn't, I have to earn all the money he gives me. He's cheap."

"Then you should have stopped being so freakin' lazy and worked for it!"

"...Right. Well it's too late now, let's just get going."

About halfway through the dance Trudy and I got into an argument so heated that we had to take it outside. She called me an asshole, said I was too mean, said I got into too many fights, was too poor, and the stress of being with me was too much. She threw the ring at me and left me standing outside with the cheap little trinket in my hand. On the walk home I threw the ring into the river, cursing her. I regretted that later, I could have sold it.

When I got home I crawled into bed without bothering to change and stared at the far wall, heart-broken and fighting back tears. I ignored a soft knock at my door and Matthew just let himself in and sat on the edge of my bed. I waited for him to pull an 'I told you so,' tell me that he was right and I was wrong but he only placed his hand over my own and said nothing.

After a long while, I scooted back toward the far edge of the bed and he laid next to me, resting his head on my chest. "You're not going to rub it in?" I asked him, sniffing.

"No."

I ran my fingers lightly through his hair for a while, enjoying it's softness, before I took his chin and tilted his face up to kiss him. He didn't return it and when I pulled away he was glaring at me.

"So now I'm worth your time?"

"You always were."

He clenched his jaw, stifling a single word that didn't need to be verbalized. When I tried again, he kissed me back. We fell back into an easy routine after that, although I still spent a great amount of time out with friends. I finally found a job at a grocery store just before graduation and began making plans to share an apartment with a coworker that was a few years older than me, a rambunctious albino guy named Gilbert.

Arthur didn't come to my graduation; I wasn't sure if he just didn't want to or if he was too sick. He never told me and I never asked. My friends cheered loudly when I received my diploma, and Matthew stood in the far back, half hidden by shadow and clapping softly. The initial pain of losing Trudy had faded into a dull sting and I was happier than I had ever been. Two months after I graduated, I bought a cheap used car from a local dealer. Six months after that, I moved out.

A/N:

What the hell are these OC surnames? Jesus they're like a collection of gibberish. Short chapter, sorry guys. I covered everything I had planned for this and felt that stretching it out would have just made it useless padding. Reviews are much appreciated, and thanks to those who alerted/faved/reviewed so far.

If you're reading Sunder, the next chapter is in production. I just kinda got hung up on this.

Person:

I'd rather not state out-right what the character motives are here. "Show, don't tell" ya know?


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

It was spring of 2002, and I was twenty. I was working at the local grocery as a supervisor, saving money with the intention of starting college. Many of my friends from school had already gone, moved to other towns and started school or found jobs. Only a handful were left, but that was all I really needed. I went out on weekends, spent nights playing my new PS2 with Gilbert, hung out with Matthew after he was off of school. I occasionally went to my father's house in order to clean up a bit, or bring food, or try and talk him into cutting down on the drinking. About a year before that I had finally persuaded him to go to the doctor after he threw up more blood than booze. He had been told his liver was going to fail if he kept it up and he had a rather nasty ulcer.

Every time I asked him to stop drinking, or at least cut down, he would just tell me to leave, throw a bottle at me, ignore me completely. I would just have to shrug and go back to whatever it was I was doing. I told myself that I didn't care if he died. I told myself that I wanted him to die. He hadn't so much as looked at me in a sexual way in years, but I hadn't forgiven him. I never would. I never could. I ignored him while I swept up and he shot rude remarks my way, consoled him through crying drags, or picked him up off of the floor where he had passed out for no better reward than getting yelled at to leave.

From time to time, I would come over for no other reason than to share a few drinks with him in the kitchen and discuss whatever was going on in our lives.

"Have a girlfriend yet?" He asked me once, coming back from the fridge with refills for both of us in his hands.

"Naw, I'm kinda busy to be worrying about that right now. Work eats up a lot of time."

He nodded and set a cold can in front of me before taking a seat on the other side of the old table.

"You look pretty bad, are you sure you-"

"Don't start, boy. I look fine, I feel fine. I'm _fine_." He cracked open his drink and took a sip. "What are you trying to go to school for?"

"I'm thinking of becoming a police officer." When he rolled his green eyes and chuckled I grimaced at him. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, really. It's just so stereotypically you that it's kind of funny."

"Hardy god damned har, old man. How about you just take care of that beer and stop acting like an asshole."

Two small taps on the wall caught our attention. Matthew peeked around the corner of the doorway, looking uncomfortable and striving not to meet our eyes. Arthur said nothing, continuing to drink as if my brother wasn't there, so I asked him what was up.

"...Dad," Still no answer, "We're out of toilet paper." He stood there a moment, and when the awkwardness in the atmosphere became unbearable he just gave a half nod and hurried away.

"Can I borrow some money?" Arthur asked me.

"I'll buy you some tomorrow." There was no way I was going to give him cash. The last time I had given him twenty bucks for various household items he had blown it on a bottle of Everclear and a six pack. I couldn't even buy anything for him or Matt that wasn't a necessity like food or supplies, since the new TV I gotten for Matthew on his birthday was pawned a week later.

I felt bad for my brother. He could never keep anything since he still lived with Arthur. Even the bike I had stolen from Mike was gone three days after I had moved out and given it to him. Arthur never looked at it when it belonged to me, even after I had bought a car and didn't need it. The minute I handed it over to Matt, though, it was free game. I suppose he couldn't care much about stealing from a boy who didn't exist.

Matthew spent a lot of time at my apartment. He and Gilbert got along well, and they would often hang out even without me. I was glad Matt had someone else to talk to, but it worried me that we were as far as his social life seemed to go. He never went out with anyone, had never told me of group outings or girls. I tried pulling away a bit to try and force him to find friends but it never worked. Slowly lowering the amount of time we spent together, restraining touches to only the necessary even when it was just he and I, always suggesting he join an after school club or get a part-time job. His grades were good enough, better than good, he could do it. He would still come over, still play card games with Gilbert and I, still slide into my bed when Gil wasn't home. I would try to tell him to go home and he would drop his gaze to the floor, knowing I found it cute, and unfasten the first two buttons of his shirt so slowly. His pale collar bones would begin to peek from behind the fabric so gradually that it made me want to scream, and he would finish it off with a whispered "Big brother, I need you."

Afterwards, in bed, I would curse my lack of self control as he cuddled up next to me sleeping.

One such night I was lying over him, both of us covered in a thin sheet, pressing kisses along his jaw and neck and chest when he let out a soft almost sigh of a moan. "I love you, Al."

I froze up, taking a moment to register what he had said. He loved me? Had he actually just said he loved me? Before I could stop myself, I laughed. I laughed long and hard, because it had to be a joke, right? Who could love someone like me? I was a useless piece of shit, Arthur made sure to remind me of that every single day growing up. I laughed until it hurt and after a few moments Matt let out a tiny half-chuckle.

"Yeah... I... I was just kidding." Being the idiot I was, I believed him. I told him not to mess with me like that and went back to enjoying myself. He never brought it up after that, and neither did I. I liked things how they were, never too serious, never too concrete. He was there when I needed him, I could send him home when I didn't. If all else failed, I could just lock him out.

"Dude your little bro's outside. Do you want me to let him in?" Gilbert asked me once from the kitchen.

"Naw man, he'll go home eventually." I called back, trying to focus on the racing game I was playing.

Gilbert came into the living room and plopped down on the couch beside me. "Don't you think that's kind of a dick thing to do? Shouldn't you at least tell him to go home?"

"If I answer the door he'll never leave, you know how he is." I tilted my body left and right as the car I was controlling sped around turns.

"Well he can just hang out with me until you're done... I don't know, avoiding him? I'm cool shit, you know he likes me."

"He needs to find friends his own age." I flew past the finish line at a hard-earned second place.

"He's pretty mature."

"Naw, you're just immature."

Gilbert punched me in the shoulder and asked to play. The next day at work, Matt went through my line with a few items for the house. I rolled my eyes; there were plenty of much shorter lines at other registers. When he finally got up to me, I asked him what he wanted.

"You know I can't talk when I'm working."

"I know you were home yesterday." He muttered.

"Well it is my house. What of it?" I scanned his items and told him the cost.

As he worked his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a few wadded up bills, he said, "Why didn't you answer the door? I knocked. You didn't answer my calls either."

"I was really busy."

"Doing what?"

I took his money and punched the amount he had given me into the register. "School stuff."

"You're not in school."

I handed him his change and bag. "School _prep_ stuff, whatever."

"...Oh. Will you be busy today?"

"Yeah."

"..."

"Come on, man. Get moving, you're holding up my line. I'm having a shitty enough day even being on register at all. I'll talk to you later alright?"

"When is 'later?'" He asked, but I was already busy with the next customer. I couldn't very well just spend every waking moment with him. Not only did I need my own space, my own time, but it was tiring and I worried it would raise questions. I was the only one my brother spent time with. That, along with the way he looked at me, affection so public and open it was like begging the world to know what we did behind closed doors. He told me I was being paranoid; who would suspect something like that? It was so rare, so absurdly unheard of that it would be laughable to even consider.

I didn't want to take the chance.

No, we couldn't go out to see movies together. No, we couldn't go to the county fairs when they came around. No, he couldn't come over every day. No, we couldn't come within two feet of one another in public unless absolutely necessary. I could barely be persuaded to give him a ride anywhere, or invite him over when Gil was home for fear of some odd glance, some fleeting touch giving it all away.

While Matthew wasn't around and I wasn't out with my other friends, I spent a good amount of time with Gilbert. He always said he intended on joining the military but never seemed to really put much effort into it. He planned on buying a pet bird but never went to pick one out. He spoke of proposing to his girlfriend but never got around to it. Basically, he was a grade A slacker. He didn't work at the store anymore, he had moved on to work at the Town Hall keeping records. He was fantastic at his job, and said that he enjoyed the work. It paid well, for which both of us were glad since we shared the rent fifty-fifty.

We were good friends, best friends even. We went to bars, played games, complained to one another about anything and everything. We got into small arguments here and there, but it was never anything particularly serious. He always told me that he didn't agree with the way I would ignore Matt, or comment on the decidedly strange distances I kept us at.

"It's weird." He had said once as he pulled a couple of hot dogs from the microwave.

"How so?"

"Never in my life have I met someone so weird about being near their family member. It's like you're worried about cooties or something."

I laughed at that. "Dude are you eight?"

"Hey, I calls 'em like I sees 'em."

He had a very close relationship with his own brother, even though they lived far apart, and it struck him oddly when he saw siblings that didn't seem to be as close. Matt and I were "close," in so many ways, but I couldn't risk letting him know that. Once, when we were drinking, I caught myself mentioning something about how much I liked my little brother, and he replied with something like "dude that's good, sometimes I worry you hate the guy."

"No way, man. Matt's a cool guy." I slurred, leaning across the coffee table in the living room to grab the bottle of vodka. I poured some into my cup and it was shortly followed by a splash of orange juice. Gilbert laughed at me as I struggled to close the juice's cap, twisting it on at an angle a few times before I got it to connect. "I mean, he's always there for me and shit."

"I've noticed."

I nodded, head feeling fuzzy and the beginnings of drunk munchies starting to poke around the edges of my mind. "I wish he didn't look all sad and shit all the time though."

"He does seem pretty depressed. I think he might think you don't like him, you're a real ass to him sometimes. Hey, pass me that bottle."

I gave him the alcohol and spoke again after taking a drink of my Screwdriver. "Your face is an ass. But really though, I don't hate him or whatever. I mean, we're really close ya know? He's all I've ever really had. My dad is such a fucking cunt."

Gilbert nodded and took a shot, grimacing at the burn. "So you say every single time we get drunk."

"Did you know he shot Matt's fucking dog? Just shot the thing for no fucking reason! He... He was pretty messed up about it for a while. Didn't say anything but I could tell." Gilbert just nodded so I continued. "I mean- I mean I don't want him to be upset and shit. I like him a lot ya know? A lot more than I've ever liked anyone."

"Well he is family."

I sat there a moment, frozen. What the hell had I just said? To anyone else, it couldn't have sounded strange. Without the unspoken context it sounded completely normal. But knowing what I knew, it felt like I had just laid it all out there on the table. Everything I had gone through so much trouble to hide just tossed out into the open. I feigned sickness, laughing off Gilbert's calls of 'pussy' as I excused myself. I stopped in the kitchen for a bag of chips and went to my room to mull over what I had just said. I eventually passed out and to my great relief, Gilbert never brought it up.

I had lived in my apartment for about eight months when I ended up getting into a huge amount of trouble at work. A very ornery customer had said some rather rude things to me, and I called her out on it. Of course this was an awful mistake that almost got me fired. My boss ended up sending me home for the rest of that day after making me apologize the woman whom I had called a "bitch." I was so upset, so frustrated that I didn't know what to do, so I swung by Arthur's house and invited Matt over.

Gilbert was out with his girlfriend, and would be for the rest of the day. It was his anniversary and he intended on spending "the whole night giving [his] girl awesome kick-ass sex." Matthew was talking about something, I don't remember what nor was I particularly listening, when we got inside. The words died on his lips when I kicked the door shut and slammed him up against the wall to kiss him fiercely. I was desperate for release and in no mood to play around with any tender build up or soft touches. He gasped a little in pain when his head hit the wall, but he didn't seem to mind too much. He was just as feverish to go about it as I was and in a whirlwind of rough kisses and carelessly discarded clothes we ended up on the living room floor.

He leaned over the couch, head resting on his arms and his soft, breathy moans goaded me on. My nails biting into his hips, feeling amazing, taking what was _mine_. It was passionate and rough and to-the-point fucking, none of that tender feelings with eyes locked and fingers laced bullshit. I was so into it that I didn't hear the click of the front door as it opened and closed, didn't hear the thump of shoes on the tile floor, didn't hear the little jangle of keys landing on the kitchen counter.

"Holy fucking **fuck**!" Was the thing that shot through the air and ripped me back to reality. Gilbert stood there a second, mouth agape, soda in hand with the straw still sitting on his lip. After a second of staring at one another in hellish silence, he spun around, sputtering unintelligibly, something about somewhere he needed to be. The bang of the door shutting reverberated through the apartment, and he was gone.

Matthew and I stared at each other a moment, his face bright pink and my heart slamming away in my chest.

"I-I'm sorry I should have... He... I don't... The door..." He sputtered away, snatching up his clothes and yanking them on in a blur of half thoughts.

I pulled my own pants on, the numbness of shock descending over me like a thick haze. Gilbert was supposed to be out for the rest of the day... He wasn't supposed to come home. Why had he come home?! It didn't matter, not now. Everything was hazy and dream-like as I drove Matt home and he filled the car with an anxious cloud of apologies. When I pulled into my old home's drive way he tried to calm the situation in a series of stilted sentences, nervously looking down and wringing his hands.

"Al I'm... I'm sure everything will be fine. We'll just explain stuff and.. And well... Gil's cool I'm sure he'll-"

"Get out."

He stopped talking and bit his lower lip so hard I wondered if he would break the skin before nodding briefly and climbing out into the crisp night air. He stood there a moment and a cold blast of wind tossed his hair across his face before he spoke. "Let me know how it goes." I nodded and when he shut the door I put the car into reverse and pulled out of the yard.

Gilbert hadn't come back when I got home, and I was incredibly relieved. The last thing I wanted to do was face him. I spent the night draining a bottle of Jägermeister, eating microwave burritos, and flipping aimlessly through the channels, the bright lights of the TV dancing across the walls and helping to ease my nerves. I had work the next day, and it was a fight climbing off of the couch at six in the morning with the hangover I was suffering.

A quick shave and shower had me out the door; I was going to be late so there was no time to pack a lunch. I got to work ten minutes late and clocked in with a cloud of apologies to my boss, a heavy set, dark-haired older woman who wore too much makeup and had the most soothing voice I had ever heard. She just smiled at me and shook her head as if to say "it's fine."

"I'm really sorry Al, but Katherine and Barry were both sick, James got fired yesterday after you left, and Margaret messed up her knee. We're really short, can you cover register eight?"

"Elli I've got a mountain of paperwork stacking up back there." I pleaded, motioning toward the door to my office.

"I know and I'm really sorry hun, but I've got three interviews today _and_ new stock coming in so I really can't. Just one more day of this, I promise." She took my hand and squeezed it lightly in her slightly moist grip, flashing me a pleasant smile. I couldn't argue, she was my boss and the nicest woman to work for, so I just sighed and went to my register.

The day was going by normally, albeit a little slow, until I started noticing customers giving me weird side-glances and whispering to one another. I just smiled and waved a little, which they either awkwardly returned or adverted their eyes. As the day went on it became more and more regular. People seemed to avoid my line and it was starting to unnerve me.

At my lunch break, when I was relaxing in my office eating a sandwich and trying to calm my frayed nerves, a knock came at my door. Elli popped her head in, hazel eyes everywhere but mine, and cleared her throat.

I took my feet off of my desk and set my sandwich on a paper towel before I spoke. "What's up, Elli? Need something?"

"Hey Al, um... Yeah, I'm gonna have to ask you to go home for the day." She fidgeted a little, "Well, not for the day. I'm sorry hun but I'm gonna have to let you go."

"Wait, what? _Why_?"

"Hun there's been a lot of talk going around and... Well... It just ain't good for business."

"B-but I didn't do anything wrong! You can't just fire me! Elli you know I need this job." When I stood up she flinched and let out a nervous, airy chuckle.

She tapped the door frame a few times with her long French-tip nails, thinking over her response, and sighed. "I'm gettin' a lot of complaints and people are saying they're going to do their shopping elsewhere. It ain't my place to judge you, and I don't know if any of it's true or not, but if it is you need Jesus." With that she slipped out of the room and softly shut the door.

I stood there a moment, speechless, as the reality of the situation sunk in. Everyone knew. Every-fucking-body knew practically overnight. I knew it was a small town but _jesus christ _how did it get out so fast? Did Gil just run though the street with fliers or... Of course! He was friends with that little son of a bitch gossip Feliks. Once Feliks knew something, the whole damn town knew.

What was I supposed to do? If everyone knew, there went my hopes of finding another job. Of making and keeping friends. Of finding someone to settle down with. My life was absolutely ruined and it was _all Matt's fucking fault_. If he would have just left me alone like I had asked, if he wouldn't have come over that day, if he would have made some god damned friends we would never have... I would never have...

I swore loudly and kicked my chair over, fuming, and started packing my few things into a plastic bag. Once everything of mine was together, I had to make the mortifying walk out of the building with everyone's eyes following me as they talked in hushed whispers amongst themselves. When I was getting into my car some guy in a pickup truck yelled "freak" and sped off, and it took every ounce of self control not to cry out of frustration. The ride home felt like it took forever, and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball on my bed and try to wait the whole mess out.

As if that was possible.

When I got home, to my great disappointment, Gilbert was there. He was in the living room on the floor, rummaging through a pile of his things. When he heard me come in he glanced at me for a second, then turned his gaze back to the stuff he was sorting.

"Hey." He muttered.

"Hi." I set my bag beside the couch and sat down. A long, awkward silence permeated the room until I couldn't stand it anymore, so I flipped the TV on. "I got fired."

He looked up at that, frowning. "Dude."

"Yeah." My phone went off and when I checked it I saw that it was Matthew. He was the very last person I wanted to talk to right then so I sent it to voicemail.

"Why'd they can you?"

"Everyone in town could probably answer that."

He bit his lip and we lapsed back into quiet. A commercial for soap played in the background, filling the apartment with the hushed sound of a catchy jingle and he went back to sorting the items.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, tapping my foot on the old carpet.

"Sorting my stuff."

"I can see that."

He scratched his nose before he replied. "I'm moving out."

I had expected it but it still stung. "Today?"

He nodded and I returned the gesture. What could I have done? Beg him not to leave? Remind him that I was unemployed and rent was coming up? Tell him that I needed him now more than I ever had, I needed a friend more than ever, that my life was ruined and I was stuck standing in the middle of the ashes of what I had worked so hard to build without anyone to help me?

"Need some help?" I asked, and he refused so I just nodded and stood. I wanted to ask him why he had come home but the sheer awkwardness of the question, the striking memory it would resurface, was more than I was willing to handle so I said nothing. On my way to my room I stopped in the kitchen for the bottle of scotch, and then I retreated into the small space and curled up on my bed. My phone rang again; it was Matt. I sent it to voicemail.

Ten minutes later, after I had taken my first gulp of the burning alcohol he called again, and again I ignored it.

Another call, still Matt. Straight to voicemail.

Another.

Another.

And one more, all to voicemail.

Another call.

I shut my phone off.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww ww

I woke up around noon the next day with a splitting headache and my stomach churning. After a long hour hunched over the toilet, I took a quick shower and thought my situation over. I was truly and thoroughly fucked. I made breakfast and turned my phone back on. Fourteen missed calls, five messages, all from Matt. I checked them when I sat in front of the TV and stared blankly at the news.

"Alfred _everyone in school knows_. I... I don't know what to do. It was horrible. I ended up leaving at lunch and just hanging around town but people were looking at me weird there too. I'm worried dad heard... Call me back when you're not busy okay?"

"Dad's not home, I think he's at the bar. What if someone tells him? Al please come get me, I'm scared."

"Oh god Larry told him, he's so mad! Al, please, please, please come get me _please_."

"Come on I'm sorry! P-please answer your phone, please call me back I-" he took a minute to breath, it sounded like he was going to start hyperventilating, "He's so mad and loud and oooh god just please?"

"I can't keep him out forever Al, please come try and calm him down he listens to you." There was a loud slam in the background and he squeaked in fear. "Oh god please Al pick up pick up pick up your phone!"

I swallowed thickly as I deleted the last message. He... He was fine, just overreacting. I doubted that. Arthur got very violent over the smallest things, and this could not be considered "small" in any sense of the word. He had tried to shoot me in a drunken stupor over a broken plate when I was ten, and he only missed my head by about an inch. I slid to the floor, struck silent in horror, and to my great embarrassment I pissed all over myself. He stomped on my hand for that, and I ended up having to clean the mess I had made with three broken fingers. I never went to the hospital for it and was just thankful that it had been my left hand.

I was worried for Matthew but my own deep fear stopped me from going to see how he was. When I called I got his voicemail. I left a message, telling him to call me, and washed my dish. I spent the rest of the day inside, contemplating what my next action should be, and checking my phone. Nothing.

At nine I called him and got no answer, so I went to bed with my phone's ring on max.

The next day, I saw that I had a text from him. "I'll be over at four." It said, and I sighed in relief. I had a few hours before he came over, and I made my decision. I packed everything in my apartment that was worth anything, and drove to a neighboring town where my scandal wouldn't be as well known. I sold everything, probably for far less than it was worth, and drove back. Once I had returned I shoved my clothes and other necessities into suitcases and started carrying them out to my car.

At four-thirty, Matt finally showed up limping. "What are you doing?" He asked me once he was close enough.

I could feel the stares of my neighbors on me as I turned to him. "Holy shit, man." Was all I could say as my gaze traveled over his cuts and bruises.

"Yeah, dad was pretty mad."

"Why didn't you answer my call?"

His eyes snapped up, glare full of venom, before he took a deep and shaky breath to calm himself down. "I was in the hospital. Broken rib." He lifted his sweater with a wince to show the bandages that half-covered the dark splotches of bruises that covered his left side. "Told 'em I got mugged."

"What are you doing?" He asked again.

"I'm leaving." I replied, tossing the last of my bags into the trunk and slamming it shut.

"W-what?"

"I can't stay here, everything's all fucked up."

"But-"

I lifted a hand to silence him and shook my head, walking toward the car door. "I sold everything and I'm going.

"What about me?"

"I can't take you with me."

"Why?!"

"You're underage, that'd be kidnapping. And I'm gonna have to live in my car, I can't take care of you."

He looked around, breaths quick and shallow in growing panic, "Alfred! Please, don't go!"

"I have to!"

He started fidgeting and came up behind me. "It's okay, it was only a few people. No one knows, not really anyway."

Heat ran through my body, the gazes of the people standing out front of their houses and slowing their drive to ogle our exchange making my skin crawl. Without thinking, I spun around and roared at him "Everybody knows!"

He jumped, shrinking away from me and dropping his gaze to the pavement. He blinked back tears and started to speak, but I cut him off.

"I gotta go. Everyone knows, how am I supposed to live with this hanging over my head? I wont be able to get a job, I wont be able to do anything!" I climbed into the driver's seat and pulled the seatbelt over myself. I spoke without looking at him.

"I'll call you when I get stuff figured out, alright?" Without waiting for him to speak, I shut the door and drove away.

I didn't see him again for six years.

A/N

mfw "you need Jesus"  
mfw there is no face to express my side-splittery

That line makes me laugh every time I read it. I'm sorry guys, I know this is srs buiznaiz but damn I crack myself up over the dumbest shit sometimes. But on a serious note, this kinda thing isn't a joke and shouldn't be treated as such. People saying "you need Jesus?" That's joke-worthy.

I tried to change my scene break but it doesn't show... If anyone knows how to fix it let me know, please.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

I drove aimlessly for a while, with only an Atlas I bought at a Wal-Mart giving me any direction. I made my way down to St. Paul and slummed around a bit before getting bored and heading out of state to Iowa. There was really nothing of interest there, but I ended up hunkering down in Waukee for a couple of months while the harshness of winter settled over the land. I stayed in a small, beaten-down motel on Maple Street and worked part-time at a gas station. Once the storms let up a bit I tossed in my resignation and packed my things. I was on my way again, this time heading West. I passed through Nebraska and was surprised that any place could actually be flatter than where I had grown up, and eventually came out in Colorado.

I put down stakes again, just tired of roaming, and found myself a job working at a flower shop for a friendly Russian immigrant named Ivan. We became fast, if not slightly strained, friends and spent a lot of time together. With his blessing I took his sister Natalya on a few casual dates but nothing came of it, and I didn't mind. It was nice to just get out. I spent six months there, saving money and sharing half the rent of a duplex with Ivan. Time passed and I became restless, and after a huge going away party I said my goodbyes and was on my way once more. I stopped in Durango, Cortez, and Grand Junction before I finally backtracked down to Arizona.

It was dry and hot, a stark contrast from the humid state I had grown up in, but it was a welcome change. I fell into a roving hippy commune for a while. I tried various drugs, learned to play the guitar and harmonica, danced in the cool desert night air with various peace-loving women. After a while I decided that I wasn't ready to settle down just then, regardless of how much I enjoyed myself, so I bid them farewell and climbed into my - by then - battered Chevy and headed for California.

In Santa Cruz I played guitar and sang outside downtown for tips. I didn't make a huge amount but it was just enough to get by on a budget. I learned to surf and fell in with a group of people who loved the sport. We had wild parties and I entered into an on-and-off relationship with a fickle dark-haired girl named Natalie. Eventually the stress of it got to me and I packed my things, sold my board, and was on the road again.

After a long and winding drive I found myself in New Mexico. It had almost been two years, and I had grown tired of travel. I rented a small apartment above a Japanese tea house and took out a student loan to start school in order to become a police officer. It was tough at times, but never not enjoyable. I became friends with the reserved man who ran the shop below me. His name was Kiku Honda and he was quiet, but friendly and would get excited over the things that interested him most. He got me into anime and manga and those quirky Japanese RPG's. I settled down into a kind of routine, and everything was good.

Every morning at six I would take a run through the city park to keep my stamina up. I would have made a sorry excuse for a cop if I couldn't run an even mile quickly. One such day I was jogging and I pulled out my iPod to cycle to one of my favorite songs when a woman, struggling with her arms full of paper bags, walked out in front of me. I collided with her hard enough to throw us sprawling to the concrete path, sending cans and boxes and bags out every which way.

I readjusted my glasses and quickly climbed off of her. "Jesus, I'm sorry ma'am!" I sputtered, hurriedly picking up the items that were closest to me.

"No, no, it was my fault. I've very sorry!" She insisted in a girlishly cute voice that was lightly touched by a European accent that I couldn't name.

"Gosh, no, it was all my fault. I wasn't looking." I said, chuckling lamely. When I finally looked at her I saw that her long blonde hair was in two braids that laid over the shoulders of her pink dress. When she smiled at me, her big green eyes shone in the bright morning light.

"I'm really sorry about knocking you over." I muttered, cracking a lame grin. When she started laughing, a tiny, adorable sound with her small hand covering her mouth I asked what was funny.

"'A boot.'"

"What?"

"How you pronounce 'about.' I sounds like 'a boot.'" She tried to muffle her laughter as she kept picking the groceries up and slipping them back into her bag. "I'm sorry, I know it's rude to laugh."

I chuckled and told her that it was alright; This wouldn't be the first time I had ever gotten flack for my accent. Once the items were all packed away I offered to help her carry it home. She agreed and the walk to her apartment complex was filled with enjoyable conversation and light jokes. At her door I asked her name.

"Lilly Zwingli. And yours?"

"Alfred Jones." We shook hands and I asked her if she would like to go out for lunch.

Lilly was a sweet girl, calm, quiet, never raised her voice or berated me. She wasn't a push-over, though. When she felt strongly about something she made it quite clear. Her modesty frustrated me at first; it took four dates to earn a chaste kiss on the lips, and every time I would try and push for more she would put an end to it quite sternly.

About a month after he had started dating she and I had been sitting together in my apartment watching a movie. I kissed her on the cheek and she allowed it with a soft blush. A kiss on the lips went over well, but when I leaned over her and slipped my tongue between her soft pink lips she pushed back at me. "Alfred, no. I'm not ready for that yet."

"It'll be good, I promise." I mumbled against her mouth, pushing her onto her back and letting my hand slide up her side until I cupped her small breast.

"Al I said no!" She snapped and slapped me. It didn't hurt, just stung, and the look on her face said the impact had hurt her more than it had me. She was glaring at me with her lips set in a hard line of defiance. It caught me off guard, I was used to people reciprocating if I just kept on a bit after they turned me down.

I sat back and apologized, but she just abruptly stood and stormed out of my apartment. I called her for a week with no luck, until I finally showed up at her place with a bouquet of alpine red roses, her favorite flower. She frowned and listened to my appeal, and finally sighed deeply and pulled me into a hug.

"I forgive you Al, but 'no' means 'no' okay?"

I nodded and hugged her back.

Things went well from then on, aside from the occasional argument, and eight months after we started going out we found a larger apartment together. Only then did we finally have sex, and I was shocked that I had managed to wait that long. She was awkward and fidgety, and after some time I asked her what was wrong.

"You're ready, right?"

"Y-yes."

"Then what is it?"

"I've... I've never done this b-before." She sputtered out, and I blinked in surprise. She was four years younger than me, nineteen, and I hadn't expected her to be a virgin. That explained a lot about her reserved behavior.

"Sweety, you know I'll be gentle."

"I know... I love you, Al."

"I love you too, Lilly." I said, and kissed her.

I graduated from the academy and found a job in a neighboring town, and Lilly came along. I loved my job, but the stress of the hard work and long hours left me irritated by the time I got home. I fell back into my old drinking habits and Lilly and I argued more and more often. I would just throw my hands up in defeat against her nagging onslaught and go down to the local bar for a few drinks with friends. When I came home at four in the morning, slurring my words and tripping over nothing, she would just sigh in frustration and go to sleep on the couch. I would sit on the living room floor, giving her kisses and giggling stupidly about whatever my friends and I had talked about while she pushed me away. She would send me to bed, tone stern, and leave me to pass out in a puddle of drool. I would wake up the next morning with a screaming headache, a glass of cool water and dose of aspirin on the nightstand.

"I wish you wouldn't drink so much." She would say most days, bringing me whatever delicious breakfast or dinner she had cooked.

"I don't drink that much." I would reply, and it would end there.

She preferred to take care of the house rather than keep a job, and I was fine with it. It was her choice, and I wasn't going to force her to do something that she didn't want to do. She kept the house spotless, cooked amazing meals, and sewed a little on the side for extra income. She would occasionally gift me with hand made clothing items that were far more her own style than mine, and I would just accept them with a slightly forced smile and tuck them into the back of my dresser for wear on laundry days.

Sometimes, I would catch her pouring my booze down the sink when she didn't expect me home early, and it always exploded into a huge fight. When I inevitably confronted her about the waste, she would insist that I drank too much, that it wasn't good for me.

"Bullshit I drink too fucking much! Who buys this shit? You?" I yelled at her once, backing her up against a wall.

"I know you do but it's not healthy!" She insisted, glaring at me in that defiant way that she always did.

"Don't you fucking start with that shit again. I'm fucking _fine _god damn it!"

"You've got a drinking problem, Al!" She yelled at me, and before I even thought about it I slapped her so hard that she was knocked to the ground.

She sat on the floor a moment, eyes wide and hand to her reddened cheek and tiny amount of blood on her lip where she had bitten down, before she burst into tears.

I dropped down next to her and gathered her up into my arms, hugging her tightly. "Oh god Lilly I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that." She just sobbed against me and I rocked her lightly, apologizing and kissing her tear-streaked face.

"I'll cut down okay? I promise, I'll drink less. I love you baby, you know that." She nodded against my chest, her loud cries finally having tapered off into little sniffles. I picked her up and carried her to our room, and we spent the night cuddling as I kept apologizing and promising that I would never, ever hit her again.

Things turned out the reverse of that. More and more when she made me mad I would slam her up against the wall, push her over, slap her, call her names. Each and every time, beforehand and while I was doing it, all I wanted to do was make her hurt as much as I could. But afterwards, when she cried and begged me to stop, I would be overcome with such shame, such regret. I would leave, unable to listen to her cry, and swing by some fast food place and eat until I felt sick. Then I would feel like a fat, useless piece of shit, park at some store or other, and use their bathroom to throw up everything I had eaten. I would go to the bar and drink until the guilt was drowned in a sea of drunken haze, and drive myself home to find Lilly still there waiting with worry for me etched on her face. She would beg me not to drive when I was drinking, tears in her eyes, and I would pull her to bed with me and thrust into her while I tried to ignore the darkening bruises I had inflicted.

A year passed, and still she stayed with me. If that wasn't love, I didn't know what was. On my twenty-fourth birthday, we went to the Fourth of July fair at the city park. We danced to the band that was playing there, played midway games, rode in the low-intensity rides because she was afraid of the big ones. We ate cotton candy and shared candy apples, and once the sun had set and bright fireworks lit up the sky to the chorus of "ooh"s and "aah"s, I took her small hand and kissed it.

"Lilly," I dropped down to one knee and presented her with the diamond ring I had spent the money I was saving for a motorcycle on, "Will you give me the best birthday present a man could ask for?"

Her beautiful green eyes welled with tears as she gasped and gushed and knocked me down with the force of her excited hug. She yelled "yes" over and over again while she showered me in kisses. We got married six months later, and she looked more beautiful than ever in her white dress, cheeks tinted pink and eyes cast down modestly. We traded our vows and when we kissed I knew I was the happiest I had ever been. I took out a home loan and bought us a nice starter home with a medium yard, two bedrooms. She was thinking about children and I liked the sound of it so I went along with her. I painted the house white rather than the ugly shade of pea green it had been, and she started a garden.

That happiness eventually tapered back into the same old thing we had been doing; the screaming matches, the fights, Lilly crying herself to sleep at night. I got a promotion at work, and that only added to my stress. She begged me to stop drinking more and more often, and I always yelled at her that it was none of her business.

"I'm your wife, Al! It is my business!" She demanded, standing on the other end of the kitchen.

"How about, once you're the one paying all the bills, you make some fucking rules?" I snapped at her, draining the last of my bottle of vodka with a little grimace at the burn.

"Al do you have any idea who you sound like?" She demanded.

"Don't you fucking go there." I warned, gritting my teeth.

"You're mean and all you do is drink! You're just like your father!" She yelled at me, louder than I thought her voice capable.

Rage shot through me at that. How _dare _she compare me to that asshole? _How fucking dare she say I was _anything _like him_?! All at once I wanted to make her cry, to make her scream in pain for saying something so deeply offensive to me, and so I threw the bottle I was holding at her as hard as I could with an enraged roar of "You bitch!"

It hit her in the head with a crack that made my stomach turn, and she dropped like a sack of bricks. "Oh... shit. Lilly?" When she didn't answer I ran over to her and dropped to my knees beside her limp form. Her hair was slick with blood and I panicked a bit before I hefted her up and carried her out to the car to drop her into the passenger seat. I got her to the hospital ten minutes later and begged for help. They took her from me, saw how drunk I was, and refused to let me be with her.

I sat in the waiting room for hours, head in my hands, hoping that she was okay. Hoping I hadn't seriously hurt her. Finally, at dawn, a portly nurse came out and asked me if my name was Alfred. I nodded numbly and she told me that it was okay for me to come in, that Lilly had told them it was an accident. The nurse eyed me up and down in disgust; I was sure that she knew it wasn't an accident. She probably saw situations like that all the time.

When I got to her room I couldn't even look her in the eye. I just stood there at the edge of her bed, whispering how sorry I was. She told me to sit by her on the hard little wooden chair and when I did she took my hand. I finally looked at her and saw that she had bandages wrapped around her head, and her hair was much shorter. She explained that it was getting in the way of the doctors and they were forced to cut it in order to get to the wound. She had a concussion, but would be fine.

I threw myself over her legs, crying openly, apologizing and berating myself until I couldn't find words and lapsed into long sobs. She stroked my head, running her thin fingers through my hair, whispering that it was alright, that she shouldn't have said something so hurtful. I hated that she blamed herself, but I was also extremely relieved. If she thought it her fault, she wouldn't leave me. She was released three days later, and she never pressed charges. It went onto the record as an accidental fall. She never grew her hair back out, and started wearing a ribbon instead of her braids. She said it reminded her of her brother, who was still back in Europe, and I assured her that she looked beautiful in it.

A little over a year later, she was pregnant and only barely showing. I had been promoted up to chief of police, and was looking into upgrading my home to something a little more permanent. One day I got a letter in the mail from some insurance company I had never heard of. Inside, there was a short note.

It said that my old man had finally passed away, and that I had been named in his Will to inherit a "portion of his earthly belongings." It urged me to return to my home town and sort out his affairs in a quick and timely fashion.

"What does it say?" Lilly asked me.

"My dad's dead."

Her hand went to her mouth in a quiet gasp. "I'm so sorry, Al."

"I gotta go sort out his affairs, apparently." I told her, shoving the letter back into it's envelope and tossing it in the trash.

"When?"

"Soon, it says, or else the bank will take everything. I don't need that stuff, my brother can keep it."

"You... You have a brother?" Lilly asked me, confused. I hadn't thought about him in so long that I had never brought him up. Or maybe I just didn't want to. "Well I still think you should go."

I chewed my lip a bit, and finally nodded stiffly. The last thing I wanted to do was go back to that place. The next day I called into my job to take bereavement leave, and after kissing Lilly goodbye, caught a plane back to my home town.

A/N

Ya'll guys don't know about my ships. America x Liechtenstein just doesn't get enough love. Anyway, this has been bumped up an extra chapter. The whole "what Al's been doing these past six years" part was only supposed to be half of the chapter but I went a little crazy. This will now be ten chapters instead of the previously planned nine. Sorry? Not sorry? Is that a bad thing? I don't think it would be...

Let me know how things are reading, guys. Am I in melodrama land? Wonky sentences? Poor grammar? Tell me how you're feeling all of this so I can absorb it and become THE MASTER WRITER OF FOREVER! WAAAAHAHAHAHA!

I feel bad for lobbing a bottle at poor Liechtenstein. You may have noticed I spelled it "Lilly" rather than "Lili," but that's just because Lilly sounds more like a real name. I gave her Vash's last name since she doesn't have one listed on the Wiki.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

My home town was too small to have it's own airport, so I landed a few miles away in a little city. I rented a plain white car and drove the rest of the way, each and every mile I came closer to my old home making me anxious and uncomfortable. Would anyone remember me? I hoped not. The very thought of having to look at those people again, much less talk to them, was beyond mortifying. The people I had called friends, lovers, acquaintances, enemies. None of them held those designations anymore with the time that had passed, but the very concept of having to see the sick, judgmental curiosity in their eyes was horrifying. I doubted that they would have verbalized their many questions, but what if they did? What would I say? What could I say? My mind drew a huge blank and a few times I had to stop myself from swinging a U-turn and heading home.

How would Matt react to my return? Would he even let me into the house? Did he even live there anymore? I hadn't spoken to him for so long, just thinking of facing him felt awkward. I had promised to call, but I hadn't. In all of the years I had been traveling, taking in new experiences and meeting new people, never once did I pick up a phone, write a letter, buy a plane ticket and swing by for a visit. It wasn't as if I had no time; there were many times that I had been in rooms I was renting, slouching over on my bed and staring at the phone. I had contemplated calling him, but could never work up the nerve. What could I have said? What was there to talk about?

"Oh hey Matt, how's it going? So I've got a house now and friends and a job. What do you have? Nothing, still? What, I left you in that town full of people who know what you've done and probably never let you live it down? Hahahaha, oops."

There was just no way I could call.

The town hadn't grown much since I had left, but there were a few new shops and houses lining the streets. People walked their dogs, stood in groups outside of homey cafes and laughed amongst themselves, cars crawled along the thin streets. I saw a few people that looked familiar and tried to duck down a bit in my seat. I didn't want anyone to know I was back in town. When I finally hit the dirt road that ran parallel to the river I remembered to clearly, a horrible fear clenched my chest so harshly that I had to pull over and take a minute to breath. I had never wanted to go back there; the very thought of it made me freeze up in horror. I knew my old man had finally kicked the bucket but somewhere inside I didn't quite believe it. I expected him to still be there somehow, against all logic, ready to call me out on my cowardice.

And all at once I six again, bawling my eyes out because Arthur had flushed the goldfish I had won in a school raffle because he was too cheap to pay for it's food. I was fourteen and scared of the dark because that was when he would slip into my room and shut the door softly behind himself. I was sixteen and fat, all limbs and zits and hormones. The weight of it all, everything I had tried so hard to run away from for so long, came crashing down over me and I couldn't move. Couldn't breath. Couldn't think.

I don't know how long I sat there, hyperventilating and crying and letting out long fearful moans while the car idled. After some time I managed to get a grip on myself, cleared my throat, and wiped the few stray tears from my eyes and cheeks. I took a moment to be sure that I was presentable, I was twenty-six and had no business tearing up like a little girl, and pulled the car back into drive. It didn't take me long to get to the house, It looked the same as it ever had, if not a little more run down. There was a car parked out front, not one I remembered, so I parked beside it to not block it's retreat.

I got out of my car, patted my clothes to get any wrinkles out, and went to the trunk to pull out my suitcase. After taking one more deep, steeling breath, I walked up to the front door, climbing the three steps up onto the porch, and knocked. I chewed my lip as I waited and looked around. It was spring and already hot and humid. Classic Minnesota weather. I was sure it would swing back to icy cold soon, like it always did. I knocked again and was answered by a dull thump from inside.

"Cass, 'don't call me' doesn't mean I want you showing up all-" The door swung open, and Matthew stood there, looking irritated until he registered that I wasn't whoever "Cass" was. He frowned a bit and took a long drag from his cigarette (when had he started smoking?) and gave me a critical once-over. His hair was a mess, as if he had just crawled out of bed. His violet eyes were flat and dull over the dark rings that spoke of poor sleeping habits, and he was wearing a large grey pot-leaf shirt that all but hung off of his too-thin form.

"Oh, it's you." He said, blowing smoke in twin jets from his nostrils.

I grinned and spoke energetically, trying to ease the atmosphere. "Heya man. Sorry I didn't call or nothin', I probably should have told you I was coming."

"I didn't think you would." He said, and moved off to the side, inviting me in with a slow sweep of his hand. Smoke followed it in a long arch, and I walked in. The house was dark, all of the curtains closed, and the stagnant, humid air reeked of stale smoke and dust. The living room had been rearranged, but most of the furniture was the same as it was when I had left, save for a new glass-top coffee table. He shut the door with a soft click and walked past me to put his cigarette, smoked down to the filter, out in an overflowing ash tray.

"So how's it been?" I asked him, unsure of what else to say.

He clicked his tongue, pulled a cigarette pack from the pocket of his pajama pants, and walked past me scratching his nose. "You can drop your stuff in your old room. Sorry about the mess, I just woke up."

"And you used to call me lazy. It's past noon man." He just shrugged and lit up. I cleared my throat and looked around a bit before speaking again, pointing at my lip to mirror his. "Looks bad."

He looked down, as if he could see what I was talking about, before shrugging again. He tapped his index finger near the rather painful-looking cold sore on his upper lip. "Yeah, it hurts.

"Go drop your stuff off and I'll get some coffee going." He said, walking off into the kitchen. I nodded and started off down the hall. The whole place was dusty and dank and the stuffy atmosphere made me feel like I couldn't breath. How did he manage to live in that? It looked like he hadn't swept in ages and there were stray cigarette butts lying around on the floor in a layer of dust and dirt. When I finally got to my room and opened the door, it was a stark change. Everything I had left was still there and it was spotless; bed made, clean, not a speck of dust. A window was cracked and refreshing, cool air made the thin blue curtain flow and cast a soft tint over the floor and walls. The air smelled clean, much better than the smoke-clouded air in the rest of the house. I took a deep breath, glad for the change, and set my bag at the end of the bed.

I decided to leave unpacking for later and went back out, sure to close the door and preserve the clean air. I found Matthew sitting at the table nursing a mug of black coffee, a mug for me sitting on the other side of the cheap ovular table with a bowl of sugar and a cup of milk next to it.

"Not sure how you like it." He explained when I sat down. "Sorry I don't have any creamer."

"Don't worry about it." I poured enough milk and sugar in to make it a pale brown color and shockingly sweet.

"I take it dad's insurance got a hold of you."

I nodded. "Not sure how they figured out my address."

"They're sharks when they need to be." He bent his head and took a long sip then looked up at me through his lashes. "They'd track Osama down if they needed to."

I chuckled at that but he only picked his still-burning cigarette up from it's spot in the ashtray and took a drag.

"When did you start smoking?" I asked him.

"I dunno... Seventeen I think."

We lapsed into silence and I tapped my foot on the floor, looking around and taking small sips from my mug. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Funeral's in four days." I nodded and he continued. "He left everything to you."

"What?"

"House, land, car. It's all yours. Aren't you lucky?" He gave an irritated half laugh and put out his cigarette with more force than necessary.

That shocked me. Why would Arthur give everything to me when I had left? When Matt had obviously stayed there and took care of him those past six years? Did he really hate my brother that much? I didn't know what to say, so I changed the subject. "So who's Cass?"

"Woman I met down at the bar." He answered with a dismissive little wave.

"One of those drunken little slip-ups?" I asked jokingly.

"I don't drink."

I raised an eyebrow. If he didn't drink, why would he be at a bar?

"Drunk chics are easy." He clarified, as if reading my mind.

"...Oh." That was the last thing I expected to hear from him. I set my empty mug down and he stood to come over and pick it up. He looked down at my hand a moment, then reached out to lightly brush the ring there. The touch of his cold finger on mine made me shudder.

"You're married?"

I cleared my throat and closed my hand into a fist, pulling it closer to myself. His proximity made me feel awkward and uncomfortable and giddy all at once, like I was in high school all over again and standing near someone I had a crush on. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and stammer and blush and get as far away from him as I could. "Um... yeah. Couple years now, her name's Lilly. Real nice girl."

"Well aren't you just the luckiest guy?" He muttered, taking the mug and other items and carrying them into the kitchen. I sat there, reprimanding myself for acting like an idiot with the sound of running water and clinking dishes in the background. It was just Matt, nothing to get wound up about. He wasn't a pretty lady with long hair and soft curves, a rich women covered in furs and condescending attitudes, a homey country girl with freckles and low-tied twin tails. He wasn't anything like the girls I had liked in the past so there was no reason to get all worked up. He returned a few minutes later, shaking his wet hands and sending little droplets of water flying out in all directions before wiping them on his pants. "I'm gonna take a shower, then we can go over stuff a little better."

I nodded and flashed him my best smile. What looked like the beginnings of a blush formed on his cheeks before he just huffed and walked away. I took a moment to empty the over-filled ash trays that sat on the table, in the kitchen, and living room into the trash before I sat on the couch and flipped the TV on. Actual dish? That was new. Much better than the crappy six channel affair I had grown up with, anyway. I noticed something blue peeking up from the couch cushions and pulled it out, laughed, and tossing the silky pair of panties onto the coffee table. A forgotten article from Cass, perhaps?

About a half hour later Matthew came back. He took a short break from combing his hair to light another cigarette and noticed the underwear on the table. "So that's where those went. Amber was pretty mad when I couldn't find them. She thought I stole them, called me a pervert and everything." He said, plucking them up and tossing them into the trash.

"Amber?"

"Just some chic." He plopped down next to me. "Did you want a pop? I only have Coke."

"No thanks. Man how long have those been in there, if you were seeing Cass..."

He laughed. "I'm not 'seeing' anyone. Cass, Amber, Molly, and Deb were just flings to make the month go by a little quicker."

"Oh." Well apparently he got around. I forced a laugh. "Be careful, you don't want any kids."

"Pull and pray has worked so far, here's hoping the heavens stay on my side." He replied with an airy little chuckle. "So where have you been? I haven't heard from you in a long, long time."

"I live in New Mexico."

"How is that?"

"Nice. I bought a house."

"Movin' on up." He said, leaning over to put his smoke out and dig around under the couch. He retrieved a small tin box, and when he opened it reveled a glass pipe and bag of marijuana. "You smoke?" He asked me, packing a bowl.

"Actually, I'm a cop."

He stopped what he was doing and set it down. "Oh."

"Don't worry about it, I'm not gonna arrest you or something." I laughed, nudging him playfully. "I used to smoke a long time ago but I gave it up. So... Where do you work? Or are you in school?"

"I work at the library on Briar Street." He said, getting back to his drug preparation. "No plans for school. Things haven't changed too much since you left. Well, they added a few stores on main street but that's about it. There was a pretty bad blizzard last winter that killed three people. That's probably it."

"Small towns are never the most eventful."

We watched TV for a while as he finished his bowl and packed another. Halfway through it, I asked him how Arthur had died.

"Liver failure, like the doctors said was going to happen. He refused to go to the hospital and he kind of just... Died after a while. Found him in bed."

"Shit."

He shrugged.

"I don't want the house." I said, and he looked at me with a bored expression. "I already have one, and a car. You can have it."

"How generous."

"I'm a giving kinda guy, what can I say?"

He yawned, and before he covered his mouth with his hand (fingernails gnawed down to jagged nubs) I noticed a dark blue stud on his tongue.

"I didn't take you for the piercing type."

"The ladies like it."

We spent the rest of the day leisurely talking back and forth between long stretches of silence, telling of what we had done over the past few years. He had dropped out of school his senior year, taken a few jobs before settling at the library, spent a lot of time taking care of Arthur and keeping the house in shape. When I asked what had happened with the house he just let out a little puff of air between his lips and said that he didn't see the point. He used to draw and read a lot, but not much anymore. He spent his days lying around on the couch smoking pot and watching cartoons, and his nights frequenting bars on the lookout for someone to take home. He'd never held a real relationship, claimed he didn't want the trouble. When I asked him if he wanted to move somewhere else he just shrugged and said "what's the point?"

I didn't really have an answer so I let it go.

Night fell and at eleven we decided to turn in. It was earlier than I was used to but I was tired from the trip. In the hall, Matt opened his bedroom door and stood there a moment without turning to meet my eye.

"I'm glad you finally came home." He all but whispered before slipping into the dark room and shutting the door with a muted 'click.'

A/N

Short chapter is short, but like I said it was supposed to be part of chapter six but that would have made that one too long. [insert obligatory "please review" line here]


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

I spent the first two nights sleeping on the couch. I would lay in my bed for hours, tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable before I finally gave up with an aggravated puff of air through my lips. I'd wander into the kitchen and stare into the fridge, eyeing it's contents; half a jug of milk, a little square that was left of a stick of margarine wrapped up in wax paper, a few slices of cheese tossed haphazardly about over the white grating, half a can of tomato soup covered by plastic wrap. I checked the freezer and found ice, a few ice packs, and an old container of freezer-bitten ice cream that had been nibbled at and then apparently forgotten. Not a drop of alcohol. I sighed at that; apparently I would have to go buy some.

I moved to the cupboards, wondering what the hell Matt ate. There was some wheat bread and I grimaced, I had never liked the taste. A box of instant rice, crackers, a few more cans of condensed soup, cans of tuna and a few boxed meals. Up above the stove I found, to my great excitement, an unopened box of cinnamon-sugar cereal. I made myself a bowl, wondering why it was there when both my brother and father had hated the stuff. I checked the sell-by date, suddenly worried that it was extremely old, and saw that it still had a few weeks before it went bad. I shrugged it off, feeling lucky that one of my favorite foods was to be found in the bare kitchen, and went into the living room to eat while I watched TV.

I washed my dish and laid down on the couch, curling my legs up a bit to fit, and drifted off to sleep. On the second day I woke up to the smell of bacon, and the glare of the sun in my eyes. I looked around confused, squinting against the offending rays. Apparently my brother had decided to open the blinds for once. When Matthew came into the room and handed me a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast, I asked him where he got the food.

"I went to the store." He explained to me with a chuckle. "Where else would I get food?"

I sat up with a groan, stretching the kink in my back, and checked my watch. "You went before seven in the morning?" I asked in astonishment.

"Wal-Mart's open twenty-four seven." He sat down next to me and turned the TV on.

"That's so early!"

He shrugged. "Starving my company to death would be rude. I don't know what you like so I got you a case of Budweiser."

I grinned at him, still chewing a crisp slice of bacon. "Thanks man! It's weird having you able to buy booze."

He finished chewing then changed the channel. "I'm not the little kid you abandoned anymore, you know. I'm all grown up now."

I flinched at his choice of words, gave a weak smile, and went back to my food. "Did you know you had Cinnamon Swirls above your stove?" He nodded so I continued, "I thought you hated those things."

"I do."

"Then why buy them?"

"You like them."

"But you didn't know I was coming." I pointed out.

"I'd hoped you would." He mumbled past the pop at his lips.

He went to work at ten, and I spent the time napping, watching TV, and working on that case he had bought for me. The house felt so empty and broken; like all of the life that used to be there was gone. It was like all of the energy, all of the passion had died with my old man. I poked around a bit and found my father's old hand gun sitting in a dresser in the living room while I was looking for a place to keep my wallet. I saw that it was loaded with a single bullet and raised an eyebrow. Why have a gun with only one bullet? I made a mental note to ask Matt what our father was on about when he got home. I called my wife and told her that I would be gone until Friday, Monday at the latest. There wasn't a lot to sort out; the funeral, then signing all of the property over to Matthew. After that there would be no reason to stay and I would hop the soonest flight and head come.

"I love you, honey." She said, her soft tone making me smile.

"I love you too, baby. Take care of yourself, okay?" I said, and hung up.

"How sweet." Matt's unexpected voice made me jump and spin around. He dropped a couple plastic bags onto the floor with a loud thump, a slight scowl on his lips, and he went about pulling his shirt off.

"Uh..." I closed my phone and shoved it into my pocket. "Why are you taking your shirt off?"

He tossed the article aside. "What, you think I live in my work clothes?"

I turned away, feeling the heat an of an awkward blush warm my cheeks. He had grown up and filled out quite a bit after the years, fit and sturdy if not a little too thin. He looked just fantastic, even with his ribs a little too visible and a few faded love bites dotting his chest, and that thought alone had me inwardly kick myself. I'd never been interested in guys. I mean, I could tell a good-looking dude from an ugly one, sure, but I never checked them out. I'd always been quite fond of women with their curves and smooth skin, soft and small and light. And here I was, checking out Matt of all people.

He grabbed a random baggy shirt from the back of a chair and pulled it on before plopping down on the couch and taking up his pot tin. "I don't know what you're all jumpy about, it's nothing you haven't seen before."

My heart stopped in my chest a second before he went on to say, "We're both guys, we aren't shaped any different."

Oh. That's what he meant. I let a silent, relieved breath out slowly. "So... How do I go about giving the stuff to you?"

"Court house, I think. You need to sign for it then sign it over to me. I'm not sure though." He crossed his legs into a pretzel and went about smoking for a while before he started up again. "Are you actually going to the funeral?"

"Who do you think will be there?"

He clicked his tongue and thought for a moment. "Probably Garry... You don't know him, he just moved up a couple years ago. Mick might but I doubt it. Not a lot of people anyway. Dad wasn't the most social guy I'm sure you remember. Always said he was 'fine being alone' and all of that."

We sat around for a few hours, me nursing a few beers and him smoking through enough cigarettes and pot to shroud the living room in a dull haze. After I had caught a contact high I suggested taking a walk to clear my head. We wandered around by the river, not saying much, and a soft kind of nostalgia settled over me. The babbling water, the loons in the distance, the crickets and frogs that assured me that the weather would stay nice. They took me back to the good times I had had living there, the comfortable moments scattered about in the long lines of frustration. I hadn't expected to ever think it, but it was nice to be home. It was nice to come back, even if it was only to put everything to rest, leave, and never look back.

On the way back to the house, as I admired the stars that I hadn't seen so clearly in such a long time, I asked him about the gun. "Not gonna do much against robbers with only one bullet. Want me to buy you some more?"

"I don't want any."

"Then why have it?"

"For when I need it." He replied when we got to the house. He bid me goodnight, saying I should turn in as well since the next day would be busy, and disappeared inside. I stayed out a little longer, wandering around the shaggy yard and breathing the crisp air. The old shed was gone with only a little rock sticking out of the ground. I knelt down to inspect it and saw a small cross crudely carved onto the surface. I stayed there a moment, looking at the stone and the small collection of old, dead flowers that sat over the little grave.

A strong gust of wind blew, making me shudder, so I got up and went back inside. I showered, ironed and hung my suit, and went directly to the couch. It felt like a waste of time to try sleeping in my old room when I knew it wasn't going to happen. I laid there a while, staring up at the ceiling and telling myself not to go get a beer since I had to be up early the next day. I browsed around online for a while on my phone, paced around the living room, and cleaned up a bit before I finally broke down and went to grab a drink.

I was anxious to go out into the town and maybe run into people I used to know. I hoped that Matthew didn't expect me to go out anywhere. I only wanted to attend the funeral and head straight back home to start sorting things out. At the same time, I wished that the ceremony wasn't so soon. Going to the cemetery and seeing that casket would make it all so much more real. Arthur was dead and I would never have to see him again.

That should have made me happy. It didn't.

I woke up to Matt's voice and blinked in surprise, not having remembered falling asleep. He was telling me to get up, that the funeral was in forty minutes, that I needed to shower and change and do my hair. I groaned and rubbed my right eye with the heel of my hand, sitting up and nodding. My back was killing me, I must have slept funny.

"Are you getting _high_?" I asked him, noticing the sharp scent in the air when I was searching the floor for my glasses.

"What of it?" He was looking into the small, ovular hall mirror as he straightened his tie and held a joint in his lips.

"Nothing I guess." I said and stood to grab my own suit. I snagged my wallet from the end table drawer, noticing that the gun was gone, and went into the bathroom to shower and change. I was out, dressed, and ready with fifteen minutes to spare.

Matthew lit up a cigarette on his way out to his car and we were on our way. When we got there, five minutes late, the grave was already dug and it was barren but for a priest and a few guys to do the manual labor. How pathetic, the only people to show up to your funeral being your kids and the guys who's job it is to be there. Apparently he was going out the same way he lived and died; Sad and alone. I wanted to laugh at him but I couldn't. My throat felt tight as Matt and I took our places beside his casket and let the priest know that he could begin.

He droned on, spouting various generic things about how much of a good man Arthur had been and how he would be dearly missed. The words hung heavily in the quiet air, mocking in their insincerity, morbidly hilarious when juxtaposed with the lack of attendants. The casket was lowered and I was disgusted to find that my eyes burned with tears. I forced myself not to cry. I was supposed to hate him, damn it. I was supposed to hate him for every time he hit me, insulted me, touched me. Instead of the hot, burning hatred I normally felt being aimed at him, it was directed at me. I hated myself for never getting a chance to tell him how much I couldn't stand him. For never punching him in the mouth and telling him that I was a man now and he didn't control me. For running away and never facing him, for only having the balls to come home once I knew that he was gone for good. I hated myself for never calling, for never visiting. I hated myself for just letting him hit me, and throw things at me, and call me names.

I hated myself for the times I used to moan and gasp and beg for more and he would sneer and whisper "you love your daddy's cock, don't you?" into my ear and I would almost come right then and there. I wasn't supposed to fucking enjoy it, not ever, not once, and _god damn it_ I hated myself for all of it, for everything that had happened in my life. I wanted to scream and yell and throw things like a child. I wanted to lie down right there on the cool ground and bawl my eyes out. I wanted to yell at him, tell him how much I hated him and how it wasn't _fair _for him to be dead, it wasn't _fair _that he was gone forever. I wanted to leave, I wanted to go eat like the fatass teenager I used to be, I wanted to drown in a bottle of scotch and bury it all. I hated myself for wanting to cry like a little boy because my daddy was dead and he was **never coming back**. I hated the priest for his irritating voice breaking the silence. I hated the guys who did the heavy labor for mucking up a private moment just by being there. I hated Matt for crying over Arthur. Most of all, though, I hated myself because _I just couldn't hate him_.

I didn't want him to be dead, I didn't want him to be gone, I didn't want to never see him again. I was so angry. Angry at the god damned priest who kept going on and on about a man he knew nothing about. I knew him. I knew how much he loved his tea, how much he used to like to play his guitar in the evenings before he sold it, that he preferred line-drying his clothes, that he liked his eggs over easy. This asshole didn't know anything. I doubted they have ever even met, Arthur never went to church. His words were so polished, so flat, so fucking fake that they made me sick.

Matthew quietly sniffed, wiping a few tears from his eyes beside me, and I blinked my own back. I wouldn't cry, not over him. When he was finally at the bottom of the hole and half-buried we decided that there was no other reason left to stay and went home.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww 

Matthew had dropped me off at the house, saying that there was somewhere he needed to be. He told me that he would be back in a few hours and drove off. I waved for no real reason then went inside. I felt drained and numb, so I kicked my shoes off, hung my suit jacket, and plopped down on the couch to take a long nap. I woke up at midnight and looked outside; the car was still gone.

I took another shower, feeling sweaty from sleeping in my clothes, and changed into a pair of pajamas. I tossed in a load of laundry and made a sandwich. After some time watching TV I checked my watch. Two in the morning. I was getting worried so I called him and got his answering machine. He was an adult, I supposed, so it would be normal for him to be out for a while right?

About an hour later I was relieved to see headlights flash through the window and light up the opposite wall before going dark. I had begun to worry that something bad had happened. I turned around, intent on asking him why his phone was off, when he came in with a pretty blonde girl on his arm. She was stumbling around terribly and laughing in long, high-pitched bursts at whatever it was he was whispering in her ear.

She turned and looked at me. "Oh, heeeey!" She slurred, waving. "Sorry for the- for the intrusion!"

"Don't mind him, he doesn't care." Matt said to her, kicking the door shut and maneuvering her toward the hall.

"Dude." I said, standing up and catching him in front of his room.

"Yer not gonna introduce me? Mattie you're _so mean_!" The woman said through errant giggles.

He rolled his eyes. "Alfred, this is Stacy."

"Shelly!" She corrected, swaying dangerously.

He pulled the door open and gently pushed her into the dark room. "Right, Sharon, whatever. Make yourself comfortable, I'll be right in there." He patted her on the behind and closed the door over.

"Dude... she's really drunk." I pointed out.

"So?"

"It seems kinda rapey."

"Like you can lecture me on morality."

I frowned. "Don't be a dick. Why didn't you answer your phone? I was worried."

"It isn't your job to check up on me." He snapped.

"What the fuck is your problem? I mean, you're just gone for all hours and you come back with some whore on your arm like-"

"What," he cut me off, "are you jealous?" He opened the door and slipped halfway inside before finishing, licking his lips seductively, the little blue stud catching my eye. "Can't stand me fucking anyone but you?"

He slammed the door in my face and I stood there, dumbstruck, before swallowing thickly and going back to my spot on the couch. I eventually managed to fall asleep even with the woman's loud cries ringing throughout the house.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww wwwwwww

I woke up the next morning at nine o' clock, went for a run up and down the long driveway a few times, came back and took a quick shower. I was snacking on some chips and watching a rerun of 70's show when Matt and his lady friend finally woke up.

"Hey call me okay?" She was saying as he escorted her out.

"Of course." He replied and I heard the sound of a car pulling up. I looked and saw that it was the local taxi.

"You have my number right?"

"Right here in my phone." He assured her, pulling the mentioned item from his pajama pocket to illustrate his point.

She turned her attention to me. "Nice to meet you!"

I gave a little wave and half-smile.

Once she was out the door and on her way to the cab, Matthew shoved his phone back into his pocket and sat down on the could with a soft chuckle. "As if I'd call her, she's so dumb it hurts. She nearly talked my ear off about hair and romance novels last night, I swear."

His hair was a mess, sticking out every which way, and he smelled faintly of her perfume. I didn't say anything, didn't know what to say, so I just nodded and went back to trying to pay attention to the TV.

"We should go to the court house today and take care of those papers." He said, and I just nodded. After a while, once the sitcom had ended and the news was starting, he leaned back and put his feet up on the coffee table. "You mind it I change the channel?"

"It's your TV."

"Just trying to be polite." He explained, taking the remote and surfing the guide. A long stretch of awkward silence ensued until I couldn't take it anymore.

"I kinda hoped you didn't remember." I muttered.

He snorted at that. "How couldn't I? I wasn't _that _young."

I bit the inside of my cheek, wanting to crawl into a hole and die. Instead, I turned my head to look at him. "Do you hate me?"

Matthew set the remote down, taking his feet from the table and turning a bit to face me better. He leaned forward, resting a hand on my thigh, and spoke just above a whisper. "Yes."

He just stared at me a moment, his violet eyes tired and lackluster, and suddenly he was kissing me. His lips were chapped and dry and oh so warm on mine, his hand running up my leg, fingers combing through my hair. I should have pushed him away, I should have reiterated on the fact that I had a wife, who was pregnant, back home in New Mexico, I should have told him that part of my life was over and done with. That I was done with him.

God damn it, I kissed right back. I kissed him again, and again, all tongues and feverish touches. I kissed him until my lips hurt and I was gasping for breath. Until we had somehow ended up on the floor with him over me, pulling my shirt over my head, pulling my pants down, his hands shaky with excitement. The feeling of cool air at my crotch snapped me out of it and I pushed him back, gasping and blushing.

"Matt, Matt I can't. This is wrong and... And..." My brain locked up and I couldn't seem to come up with a good reason with him straddling me like that, no shirt on and his half-hard dick tenting his pajama pants.

He sucked on his finger, so slow, so seductive, and ground himself against me as he spoke with a lusty voice that was little more than a breathy moan. "Please, big brother. I need you so bad."

Any fight I had died at that. We tossed our clothes aside, uncaring of where the articles landed, and rushed as quickly as we could into it. I flipped us over so I could be on top and he bit his lip, eyes trailing up and down me like I was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. While I was prepping him he reached down and took my wrist in a harsh grip, stopping me. He leaned up to run his tongue over my ear, making me shudder. "Not too much. Make it hurt, like it used to." It was all rough, animalistic passion and need, panting and gasping and the jagged remnants of his fingernails raking over my back and the scratchy carpet digging into my knees. The smell of that woman's perfume, the scratches on his chest, the hickeys of various age healing on his skin made my stomach turn but I did it anyway. I could only be glad that awful sore on his lip had cleared up but I couldn't help but wonder that else he had caught from the random flings he liked to have. Even with those disgusting thoughts whirling in my head, I kept on. It was too good to stop.

Afterwards, we pulled our pants back on, sore and breathing heavily. He lit a cigarette and rested his head on my shoulder, giving a soft, contented hum of approval. I leaned against the couch, staring at the wall and wondering what the hell I had just done. That mortifying chapter of my life was supposed to be over. I was a regular guy living a regular life now, but here I still was, coming down from the high of fucking my little brother. I had cheated on Lilly. I felt disgusted and angry with myself, so I pushed him off of me and stood up to find my shirt.

He looked up at me and raised an eyebrow.

"That was a huge fucking mistake." I muttered more to myself than to him as I pulled my shirt over my head.

He clicked his tongue. "It was a mistake?" He asked me, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke from his nostrils.

"A huge mother fucking mistake."

"So I'm a mistake then. Sorry about that, I'll try to work on it in the future."

"Fucking shut up, you know that's not what I meant."

The next couple of days were painfully awkward. We went to the court house and I gifted everything to him, and when we got home he went directly to his room and slammed the door hard enough to make me jump. He didn't come out for the rest of the day, or the morning after. At around noon he finally left for work, ignoring me when I tried to talk to him. He came home, tossed a bag of McDonald's at me without a word, and went back to his room.

On Friday he finally came out and sat on the couch, smoking pot and cigarettes like a chimney and watching through a Simpsons marathon. I didn't say anything to him, didn't dare to for fear that he would just go straight back to his room. So I sat in the kitchen, nibbling on string cheese and listening to the jokes unfold and the clock ticking loudly on the wall. My phone ringing startled me, and I saw that it was Lilly.

I answered with a simple, "Hey."

"Hi honey. Are you coming home Saturday?" She asked.

I opened my mouth to say that yes, I was because there was nothing left here for me to do, and said "No, legal stuff is being a pain in the ass. I'll be here another week."

"Oh, okay. Be sure to call and let them know so you wont get fired."

"You know I will."

"I love you sweet heart."

"I know."

I hung up and sighed. Why had I said that? What reason was there to stay? After I put my phone into my pocket, I stood up and went into the living room to sit next to Matthew and watch cartoons.

"Why an extra week?" He asked me after a while without looking away from the TV.

"I wouldn't feel right leaving just yet."

"Well gosh."

"Gosh indeed." I said, smiling lightly and leaning over to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. Some time later, after slow kisses and the tender hand-holding kind of sex, we laid together in his bed with me struggling not to fall asleep and him smoking as usual.

"Still a mistake?" He asked me.

"Never." I muttered through my sleepy haze.

I opened one eye to look at him when I heard his quiet, half-muffled sobs. A few tears slid down his cheeks as he just sat there, smoking through it and not saying anything.

"What's wrong with you?" I asked.

He leaned over to put his spent cigarette out and lit up a new one before he spoke. "Why didn't you take me with you?" He wiped his face with the inside of his left wrist.

"I couldn't take care of myself, how could I take care of someone else?"

He sniffed one last time and cast me a side-long look, his eyes still red but no more tears coming. "You seem pretty taken care of to me."

"Come on dude do we have to get into this tonight?" I was too tired to get into a fight with him. All I wanted to do was drift off.

"No," I heard him saying as consciousness fell away, "I suppose we don't."

A/N:

I wrote up the sex scene and posted it separately. Check my author page for the link to my AFF account, where you can find it. "NNFLG Extra: Extended Scene Ch. 8"


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